


Misdirection

by absoluteMastard



Category: Gravity Falls, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (that triangle does not fit in a box), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Arson, Crossover, Dreams and Nightmares, Emma being curious and it not going anywhere good, Eye Trauma, Gertrude being very disappointed in Fords life choices, Hand injury, Manipulation, Paranoia, Possession, Sleep Deprivation, archival assistant ford pines, auditory hallucinations, dangerous use of fountain pens, mind-erasing, spiral-ish aligned Bill Cipher, takes place in early 80's, the tma timeline might not be perfect but i did my best and i wanna have fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteMastard/pseuds/absoluteMastard
Summary: Things play out slightly differently in Gravity Falls, and Ford becomes suspicious of his muse before he understands the full truth of his portal project. This brings him to the Magnus Institute to look for information about Bill Cipher, and he finds himself put into the role of archival assistant under Gertrude Robinson. Nothing is quite the same after that.
Comments: 80
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

“This machine is dangerous. You’ll bring about the end of the world with this! Destroy it before it destroys us all!”

“I can’t _destroy_ this; it’s my life’s work!”

“I fear we’ve unleashed a grave danger on the world. One I’d just as soon forget. I quit.”

“Fine! I’ll do it without you! I don’t need you— I don’t need anyone!” Ford shouted back in anger as his friend stormed off into the elevator. His arms were shaking from the aftermath of it all; he’d been expecting excitement during this trial, not an accident and yelling and anger. The air in the room soured within five simple minutes of everything going wrong.

If Fiddleford wanted to back out now out of fear, fine. Ford could do the rest himself.

Right?

An echoed whisper sounded at his left ear, unintelligible. Ford tensed immediately, whipping his head to the side. He turned to the right when the sound moved that way, but he saw nothing but the machinery and debris around him. “Who said that?!” He snapped at the empty air. Fiddleford was already long gone through the elevator, the only exit in this room. Aside from the portal, of course. Could something have come through during the accident?

Ford’s frustration made him want to continue on with the tests, to spite his partner, but that same anger was waning in favor of caution. Perhaps powering it down, calming his nerves, and planning his next steps of testing would be better. He didn’t come this far just to screw something up with one rash decision.

As he cut the power supply and watched the glow of the portal diminish, the hum of energy in the chamber failed to cease. Through his boots, it almost felt like the ground below him was shivering, as if hungry for something that was just taken away. ‘ _Aftershocks, that’s all. Can’t punch a hole in the dimension and expect zero side effects._ ’ He thought to himself, stepping out to lock the computer and make his way to the exit. On the elevator ride up, he brushed off his pants and jacket, trying to at least _look_ composed. Perhaps Fiddleford was still up in the house, waiting to see Ford emerge. Ford could tell him that his project was all under control, that he would be just fine without him.

Fiddleford was already gone.

\--

In his dream that night, he was back in the basement, staring at the glowing portal. The power supply and failsafe switches were nowhere to be seen as the walls around him rippled like an ocean tide, then the entire floor tilted, leaving Ford tumbling forward through the interdimensional gate. In a panic, he scrambled uselessly to avoid his fate, but plunged through nevertheless. On the other side, he found himself floating in his dreamscape. A chess board floated nearby, as well as stacks of textbooks and journals. The familiarity of his own mind helped to calm him.

“Well, SOME-body can’t handle a little physics-defying experimenting, amiright?” A shrill voice shouted from behind him, causing him to whirl around in full shock. Ford appreciated the insight that his muse brought him—hell, without him, he would have never gotten as far as he did—but he did wish that Bill knew how startling his entrances were. Perhaps he did, but it was impossible to read his expression when he lacked a traditional face. His muse glided in the space around him, twirling his cane. “Don’t worry, smart guy. The heavy work is all done, and three’s a crowd, anyway. More credit for you!”

“Right.” Ford replied, vacantly. His bitterness from the day before had only curdled more. The disagreements between him and Fiddleford had recently come to a head, but Ford had hoped that since he showed up for the dummy test, that maybe he still supported him. Clearly, he didn’t. “After all the work we did together, he expected me to abandon all of my dreams because _he_ was nervous? He didn’t even tell me what he saw out there.” He said, frowning.

Bill shrugged at him. “You know him, he just can’t handle too much excitement. The untapped ocean of scientific discovery was probably too much for his miniature hilbilly brain to comprehend!” He said, laughing.

“Fiddleford is a brilliant man—” He interjected, though hesitant to continue. Somewhere far ahead, floating lazily along with a stream of memories, Ford spotted a banjo, and the memory gun. He frowned before looking back to Bill. “But if he’s too scared to continue, I won’t stop for him.”

“That’s the spirit!” He said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You don’t need him anymore.”

“Yes.” Ford nodded, more determined than before. “It’ll take more time, doing it alone won’t be easy.”

Bill paused briefly, before chuckling again. “More time? All you gotta do is flip the switch, braniac.”

Ford shook his head. “After today? I can’t risk anything going wrong again, not by myself. It’s a setback, but I need to take better measures before I charge it again.” He explained.

“Save yourself the time, Fordsy. You don’t need to prepare any more. Activate my portal.” He said. Bill’s tone was friendly, and expression as unreadable as ever. However, something in his words pushed at him the wrong way.

Ford faltered, glancing back at him. “Our portal.” He corrected.

“Sure, sure. Look,” Bill started, straightening his hat. “I can’t have you getting cold feet when you’re this close to that recognition you’ve always wanted.”

“I’m not! It’s my life’s work. I wouldn’t stop now.” Ford said. “I’ll finish it. I just need time.”

His muse sighed in frustration; it was quiet enough that Ford almost wondered if he imagined it. Something about the quiet made Ford go rigid with anxiety. Bill’s one eye gazed intensely on him. “Fine, Fordsy. But don’t keep us waiting too long!” He said eventually.

“I… won’t?” Ford stammered, but as the words left him, he was already awake in his bed. His right eye began to throb in pain, stronger than it normally did.

\--

Upon the realization that the kitchen was practically empty, Ford made the decision to walk to the store. He had hoped that the cool air of the early winter would wake him up, but a heavy grogginess stayed over him. Following the road down to the Dusk2Dawn was taking all his focus. Upon entering, the elderly lady at the counter spun from her spot at the cash register to look over to him. She gave a curt smile before turning away, and Ford ducked into the refrigerated aisle.

As he opened the door to reach for a carton of milk, he could just barely hear the sound of whispers. He nearly missed it from the background noise of the radio and the hum of the fridge. He looked about carefully, not seeing anyone else in the store. He looked to the cashier; whose mouth was still as the sound continued. His heart fluttered with anxiety as he tried to keep his cool, and continued quickly with his shopping, the unintelligible voices finally quieting halfway through. He walked to the register with milk, several canned soups, and bread.

“You find everything you need there, stranger?” She asked pleasantly, ringing through his items. He nodded quietly as he fished out his wallet. “That’ll be $9.89.”

He pulled a ten-dollar bill out, placing it in her waiting hand, then returned his wallet to his pocket. She exchanged it with two coins, but before she could hand them to him, she gasped sharply, dropping them to clatter on the countertop. Ford’s hair stood up on end as he followed her shocked gaze to the glass door behind him. There was nothing outside save for the empty parking lot.

“Are you alright?” He asked, turning back to her. “Did you see something?”

“O-oh I… I’d sworn I’d just seen a—” She started, pressing a hand over her heart as if to slow it. Her scared expression seemed to fade, and she put on a smile again, though the worry on her face shone through easily. “These old eyes are playing tricks on me; it must have been some newspaper blowing by. Forget I said anything.” She said, hastily gathering his items into a paper bag and pushing it toward him.

Ford, still jumpy himself, debated on pushing for a better answer from her but decided to leave her be. She looked relieved when he didn’t, and he gathered his groceries and headed for the door. When he left and turned the corner, he saw her through the window, hugging herself and staring out toward the door.

Despite not seeing anything in the vicinity of the store, he knew the expression of fear on her. She saw something, and was too scared to say it. He knew it too well. It made it hard to get testimonies from the townsfolk in Gravity Falls; most were too terrified of the creatures lurking about to admit they were there at all. Whoever did speak out about it was immediately alienated or discredited by the rest of the townsfolk, usually. Meanwhile, Ford actively chased down any creature he heard about to document all he could, to prove to the world they were real. Opening an interdimensional door was his chance to bring in a new age of science and discovery, to validate all those like him who were ever dismissed for believing in the unbelievable.

And yet, why was he so scared now?

\--

Two nights later, Ford’s dreamscape brought him to Bill again. The spectral tea set between them poured out a cup for him. Ford held it in both hands, carefully regarding the strange sensation of the heat from the cup. At very brief moments, the warmth changed to cold, or simply felt like static on his palms. He wasn’t keen to try drinking it.

“Been busy, huh?” Bill chimed, staring at him. “You never seemed so concerned for safety before. Now it’s all you care about.”

“The accident was—a wake-up call.” He said, shrugging. “I don’t have anyone to save me if I get pulled in. Tomorrow I’ll have the emergency reel welded to the wall, then I’ll get more rope for the harness.”

Bill’s eye narrowed slightly, almost giving the impression of annoyance. “Yeesh—I thought that ditching four-eyes would have you less distracted.” He said. “You’re going overkill with this, Fordsy. The portal takes time to charge, and if you don’t start soon, the blizzards coming into town’ll knock out the power before it’s stable.”

Ford considered this quietly, looking away. The swirl of memories and thoughts seemed erratic this time, faster and more disjointed than its usual lazy float across the open space. It set him on edge. “I have a corporeal body unlike you, Bill; if I get sucked through the portal, nobody will be here to pull me back, and all my work will have been for nothing. If ensuring my success takes me all season, then the portal can wait until Spring.”

This was apparently not what Bill wanted to hear.

The air seemed to go cold, suddenly. Seeing his surroundings start to warp, Ford looked on to Bill, whose form had gone dark. In a lightning-quick instant, Bill was suddenly as tall as a building. One crude, colossal hand swept Ford into a vice grip, holding him at eye-level to Bill. Ford, taking a second to recover, started to kick out, breathing quick against the constricting pressure of Bill’s hand.

“I’M TIRED OF WAITING, SIXER. TURN ON THE PORTAL.” He boomed. Ford cried out in terror, the dream around him seeming to collapse under Bill’s sudden fury. He could barely recognize him in this form, made of rapidly shifting colours and terrifying images of anything and everything.

Ford was grateful when he woke with a heaving gasp. Vertigo nearly toppled him before he managed to reach out to the doorframe for support, then took a moment to realize that he was already standing up at the exit to his bedroom.

He’d never seen his muse like that before. What did Bill mean by being tired of waiting? He said he was a deity of knowledge, just here to help him along his road to discovery. As he caught his breath, he steadied himself enough to get dressed. It was three in the morning, but he saw no appeal in going back to sleep.

\--

Fiddleford’s ‘ _Probablility of Failure_ ’ graph lay out crumpled in front of him at his desk. Through the window, he looked at the empty portal. Light reflected off the metal face, but otherwise it was dark. His half-finished projects of multiple safety precautions were strewn about, but he couldn’t find it in him to get back to work on them. Despite its lack of power, Ford felt as if the portal was reaching out to him. With no glowing door to the beyond, the dark circle yawned with a hungry void that felt just as threatening; as if it would swallow him up if he was too close. The unintelligible whispers had started again in the late morning, and had only gotten louder once he finally made his way to the basement. Between that and his bloodshot and sore right eye, he was exhausted.

‘ _Something’s not right. There is something Bill isn’t telling me._ ’ He wrote in his journal. Seeing it down on the paper in front of him only made it more of a reality. Bill had been rushing him as best he could, he just wasn’t aware until now. He remembered how he had snapped at him so abruptly, and shuddered. ‘ _The gravitational anomalies have ceased since I shut the portal down, but it appears that there are some persisting effects of the… psychological nature. I was fearing that I was losing my mind, but it appears that it is more than just me. Everyone in town that I’ve seen has become increasingly paranoid and skittish. When I spoke to Boyish Dan at the hardware store, he looked like he hadn’t slept, and seemed unable to focus on me speaking to him. I asked if he was hearing things, and tried to explain that I was as well, but he aggressively denied it. Each person I’ve questioned has reacted in a similar way. They all have the same fear in their eyes._ ’

‘ _I stopped by the motel this morning, but F wasn’t there. Considering how we left things, I’m not sure he would have spoken with me, anyway._ ’ He continued, twirling his pen in his hand. He still hadn’t seen his partner since the accident. In the heat of his anger, he barely paid attention to what Fiddleford said to him. What was that nonsense he babbled right after he breached the portal?

‘ ‘ _Fear the beast with just one eye.’ If this refers to who I think, I need to do some research on my own, without the ‘guidance’ of my muse. It might be best not to sleep for now._ ’ He finished, closing his journal.

For all the notes and artifacts he had stockpiled over the past two years, he really had nothing on Bill. There were vague descriptions of his abilities and timestamps of his sightings in history, sure, but no pieces of evidence to suggest whatever kind of agenda he could be running on the side. He was not part of the physical world, and as such he had much more control in what he did and didn’t show about himself. The next best source after cave paintings was Bill himself, who couldn’t be considered reliable information anymore. Perhaps he couldn’t trust anything in Gravity Falls.

Ford couldn’t risk hiking out to the old cave, not with winter rolling in so quickly. There was one more option available to him, though. Back at college, the Usher Foundation was often referenced to him by his professors when he brought up his academic focus on the weird and unexplained. At the time, Ford hadn’t cared much about what they had to offer, preferring to pioneer his own discoveries. They were rather small, anyway, with not much to offer. But he did recall its much older sister organization being mentioned to him. A research institution in England, with over 150 years’ worth of research in one library.

Digging through his box of files from school, he managed to find the pamphlet he received for the Usher Foundation. There it was, listed at the back: The Magnus Institute. Academic institution dedicated to the study of the esoteric and the supernatural. London was far, but if they had anything about Bill in their collection, then it was worth the trip. It was about time he figured out what was going on.

The two keys used to unlock the computer terminal and the power access had typically remained in their respective locks, with no need to keep the project secure. Now, however, they would come in handy while he was out of town. That, and the half-dozen deadbolts locking the house down would keep him confident that things would be safe during his time away. Without his ring of keys and the codes in his journals, the portal was only accessible to him.

Once the basement elevator was locked and hidden, Ford began packing his bags.

\--

The cab pulled up in front of the airport at dusk. Ford paid the driver in cash, then hastily took his belongings and walked to the first counter he saw. He got a strange look, asking after an impulse trip to London (apparently it happened more in movies than reality), but they accepted his money and checked away his luggage. His first flight wasn’t taking off until the morning, which left him to wander the airport shops.

Fatigue was setting in, which he actively worked to fight. He didn’t want to talk to Bill. Realistically, he was going to have to eventually, but hopefully that confrontation could wait until Ford had something to even the playing field. As of now, he wasn’t keen on hearing any of what Bill might say. Thankfully, there was a coffee shop that looked like it stayed open through the night.

Fourteen hours and one flight later, he looked visibly haggard. The one perk of airports was that nobody questioned it when you looked like sleep was a stranger to you. Once he had his next coffee in hand, he took to walking around again, not willing to risk falling asleep in a chair. The ability to stretch his legs as well as the overload of caffeine had him feeling almost giddy as he made his way across the airport to his next gate, his last flight to London ready to depart shortly.

He was seated next to the aisle, the window seat to his left occupied by a middle-aged person reading a novel. They glanced at him with a brief smile, then noticeably seemed to stare at his hands before catching themself and turning back to their book. Ford ignored it, tightening his seatbelt and opening his journal to write. He wasn’t sure what to write, only that he needed to keep focused on something, anything.

Over the first few hours, he ended up just practicing several forms of cryptography, writing out the same sentence in caesar, atbash, number codes, or sometimes a mix of a few. He managed to almost fill two pages before the plane rocked with turbulence, nearly knocking the journal from his hands. He grabbed his armrest tight, waiting for the shaking to stop.

“Nervous flyer?” The person next to him asked, smiling.

He cleared his throat nervously, straightening himself out. “No, it’s just—just a longer flight than I’m used to.” Ford had done things that were arguably much scarier than a commercial flight, but the lack of control did bring him some anxiety that he wasn’t willing to confess to. “I get restless.”

“I’ll say.” They chuckled, lowering her book into their lap. “What’s bringing you out to London?”

“Business-related.” He lied, flipping to a blank page in his journal.

“Ooh, interesting. I’m sure you’ll love it there.” They said, flipping their dark hair over their shoulder. “How long is your trip?”

“I’m not sure, yet. It depends how long my er… business, takes.” He said. They chuckled again, although didn’t reply with more than a smile. Ford glanced back at them awkwardly, realizing they must be waiting for him to return the politeness. “What are you going for?”

“Why?”

Ford tilted his head back to them, confused. Over the engine, they must have misheard him. “You don’t sound English. What’s in London for you?” He repeated.

“Why did you leave?” They asked, loud and clear despite the noise of the plane. “Your life’s work isn’t done, yet.”

Ford’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked at them properly this time. Their smile was wide and exaggerated, their eyes tinged yellow and pupils distinctly narrow. If it weren’t for the seatbelt still buckled, Ford would have launched himself out of his seat. Instead, he just leaned away as much as he could.

“COME BACK TO GRAVITY FALLS, STANFORD.” Bill said, his shrill voice coming from the person’s lips. Nobody in the seats around them seemed to react. Ford reached to loosen his seatbelt with one hand, not daring to take his eyes away from Bill.

“You’re lying to me about something.” He said, voice shaking but defiant. “Why do you want that portal on so badly?”

Bill scoffed at him. “Let’s just say I have no patience for flakes. You’re not backing out so close to the end, not after all the time I’ve spent helping you.”

Finally undoing the clasp, Ford sprung to his feet, backing out into the aisle. He frantically looked to the other passengers, only to find them all staring back with those slit pupils. He locked his eyes back on the first one. “What do you gain from this? Where does that portal lead?” Ford demanded.

Bill only laughed. It echoed amongst the rest of the passengers. “Why don’t you turn it on and find out?”

Turbulence shook the plane again, violently. Losing his footing, Ford tumbled backwards. Before he hit the floor, he woke up with a jump, back in his seat. His journal and pen nearly flew out from his arms before he steadied himself again, feeling the plane rattle in the air.

“Nervous flyer?” The person besides him asked, flashing him a smile.

Unable to find the words to reply, Ford instead looked down at his journal, feeling his stomach flip as he stared. He had only gotten halfway through the second page before the cryptography apparently trailed off, and the crude doodles of eyes and triangles began.

\--

The nightmare on the plane gave Ford enough of a scare that he didn’t have to worry about falling asleep again for the rest of the trip. He avoided all eye contact with the person next to him for the duration of the flight, then practically raced off the plane as soon as the doors opened. It took him some time to orient himself, but eventually he found his way to a taxi driver who knew enough of London to bring him to a reasonably-priced hotel that was a short tube ride away from Chelsea. As soon as he was checked into a room and was able to leave his belongings, he left for the institute.

He was practically dragging his feet as he finally reached the front of the building, regarding it with curiosity. A stranger passing by glanced at him with caution, then to the Institute doors; then seemed to make the elective decision to give him a wide berth as they continued down the sidewalk.

The pillared building’s entrance announced itself with a worn-down sign, with smaller writing seen beneath it: _‘Audio. Vigilo. Opperior.’_ Perhaps the fancy display of this quote was meant to intimidate. Ford was less scared of entering some library—he’d spent so much time practically living in them in college—but more worried about actually speaking to those inside. He felt haggard, and was sure that he looked it, too, despite changing and showering back at the hotel. Talking wasn’t one of his strong suits unless he knew what to rehearse, and in his current state, that wasn’t going to be easy.

When he pulled open the doors it was quiet and empty aside from the woman at the desk, who looked to be reading a novel absentmindedly. The floorboards creaked with age as he walked over to her, making him wince with each step. When she removed her glasses and looked up at him from her book, her eyes immediately regarded him with some sort of uneasiness. Ford found himself frozen, no longer sure of what to say. He glanced at the nametag pinned to her sweater, reading ‘Nancy.’

In his absence of words, she tried to fill in the silence. “Hi. Are you here to make a statement?” She offered, with some sort of pity in her voice.

“What do you mean by—well, no.” He started, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “I’m here for your library.”

“Oh.” She said, sounding surprised. “Are you here on behalf of an organization? We aren’t open to the public, normally.”

“I was a student at Backupsmore University, I’m doing research on an independent project. If it’s credentials you need, I have them all with me.” Ford said, moving his shoulder bag to open it. He was thankful he brought them, just in case this happened.

“Yes, those could do. Our head librarian will have to review it before granting you access, but he’s done for the day.” She explained, staring at the hefty folder he dropped on her counter.

Ford glanced at his watch, confused as it read 8:30AM, before remembering he was in a completely different time zone. “Is he here tomorrow? I can leave them here for him to see first thing, and I can come back.” He offered, cringing at how desperate his tone sounded.

She seemed to hesitate before nodding, grabbing the folder from him. “Sure. We open at nine, he should have had time to look it over by then.” She said.

“Thank you. I’ll be back, then.” He said, turning back the way he came. It wasn’t ideal, having to wait another day to gain access, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps he could try to enjoy the sights, since going to the hotel to sleep wasn’t exactly an option.

As he had the door pulled open halfway, Ford heard footsteps from behind, and he turned to look hastily. A man in a dark suit had appeared from one of the side hallways, approaching the secretary at the desk. He had a coat in one of his arms, as if he was getting ready to leave. The man locked eyes with him for a brief second before Ford turned back to exit, suddenly embarrassed. He decided to walk left down the street, with no destination in mind. He felt a prickle at the back of his neck as he left, like he was being watched on his way out. He looked behind him again when he turned a corner, but nobody was following him.

He settled with walking a circuit of a few blocks in the general area, minding himself not to get lost in such a large city. Gravity Falls was more wilderness than town, and his hometown wasn’t anything impressive either. In comparison, London was a vast and intimidating cityscape. His thoughts were sluggish as he tried to sort out his options. Eventually he settled on sitting down for a coffee and something to eat, and asking the servers what was in walking-distance for a tourist to check out.

\--

He watched the sun rise inside the same café, fingers weakly tapping his pen against his journal as he watched the clock tick by. He had returned to the hotel only to shower and change his clothes, but it didn’t do much for how run-down he looked. His eyes stung like nothing else he could imagine, and his stomach had started to hurt from all the caffeine it had been fed. The whole world seemed to move too quickly for him to keep up with, making him jump at any passing shadow or quick movement from others. All that kept him going was his goal in mind, and the Institute was due to open up again in half an hour. He downed his now-cold coffee, and took off.

Ford managed to trace his way back to the old stone building, arriving five minutes after opening. Back in the lobby, the same receptionist from yesterday looked up and recognized him immediately.

“Ah, you again.” She remarked as he approached. “You look like you’ve been waiting all night.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Ford said. Technically, he wasn’t lying.

She looked slightly uneasy at that. “Well, have a seat and I’ll let Duncan know you’re here.”

The meeting was brief, and had the feeling of being more of a formality and a character check interview. Duncan seemed concerned with Ford’s appearance more than anything else, but despite being overtired, Ford managed to seem professional enough for him to overlook that, and drop the skepticism of his incredibly lengthy education history.

Duncan gave Ford a short tour of the library before leading him to a section of bookshelves dedicated to demonology, upon his request. He thanked Duncan awkwardly, then began browsing. If it weren’t for the pressure of his situation, perhaps he would have found much more enjoyment in accessing a library filled to the brim with everything related to the paranormal world. The facility was nearly dead silent aside from the muted footsteps of the occasional staff member flitting by, which would have been peaceful if not for how out of place he felt. All he could do was put all of his focus into his goal.

\--

‘ _The Magnus Institute in London boasts an impressive collection. Despite this, nothing relevant to Bill Cipher has shown up. Mind you I have only worked through six books but sleep deprivation seems to be lowering my optimism. I don’t expect it to be easy to find information on Bill but I do hope to find something before I inevitably fall back asleep._ ’

Ford had resorted to moody entries in his journal after finding nothing of interest in the rest of his stack. His usual neat cursive was crooked and trailing off in places, but he hardly had it in him to care. In his academic days, he could finish dry text like what he had now in no time at all, but that was six year ago, during a time where he wasn’t as exhausted as now. He could find nothing relevant to what he needed, nothing that he didn’t already know. The texts he had were too theoretical and vague. He needed something to tell him about Bill specifically, but he wasn’t finding that. He made another small note under the rest of his ramblings on the page.

‘ _I feel like I am being watched in this place._ ’

It could be due to him being the only non-employee, or the pressure of the last few days weighing on him, but the paranoia felt more real the second he stepped foot in the building. It was hard to resist the urge to look over his shoulder every few minutes.

He stifled a yawn, stretching his arms out as he did so. It didn’t matter what he thought of this old place, only what it could provide him with, and he didn’t need to waste more time venting about it. Ford dug through his bag for his second journal, flipping to the page that held the cave drawings of Bill. As far as he was concerned, the other library staff’s opinion of him didn’t matter, and with the field they operated in, Ford could likely be the normal clientele they were used to interacting with. Ford rose from his seat, walking to the counter with his journal. A woman looked over to him and approached.

“Need a hand?” She asked.

Ford nodded slowly, lowering his journal to the counter and opening it at the page he held. “This drawing, and the symbols—do they mean anything to you? Have you seen them in any of the books here? It might be referenced in something centred around American occult history.” He asked. The librarian peered over at the drawings, spending a moment focused on the various symbols on the wheel before looking up and shaking her head.

“Can’t say I have. I like its little bowtie, though.” She replied, smiling. It faded again quick when she saw that Ford still looked serious. “You’ll be digging through a lot of books looking for something that obscure, there’s no escaping that.”

“He has associations with the mind, and dreams.” Ford added, leaning on a false hope that something could make his search easier.

“Sorry. That still doesn’t narrow down much. I can show you relevant sections, but you got your work cut out for you.” She said. Ford nodded after a moment. “Honestly, something this specific looks like an archive case.”

He turned his head up at that. “The archives?”

“It’s where statements end up. Recorded personal experiences of events and sightings that later get investigated. Don’t get your hopes up, though.” She said, “It’s not accessible to the public.”

So, that’s what the secretary meant by statement. Ford couldn’t help but be curious with it mentioned. “Is there a way to get access?”

“Strictly staff-only, I’m afraid. You’re not missing out on too much, don’t worry. It’s mostly fake ghost stories and dead-ends.” She said, trying to be reassuring. “It’s also a proper mess, under Gertrude’s watch. You could bury the entire archive in a hole and it’d be more organized.”

Feeling somewhat defeated, Ford closed up his journal and tucked it under his arm. He thanked her for her time, then had her direct him to some other sections of shelves to look at. Ford told himself it would be just like old times, combing through endless books. He didn’t have the same enthusiasm as before, unfortunately, but at least he had the motivation.

\--

Ford remained in the library until closing time, and found himself leaving empty-handed. The blank journal page he had open for taking notes seemed to mock him as he half-heartedly skimmed the indexes of several books. He was nearly nodding off at the desk when the librarian from earlier cleared her throat politely, making him jump and look at her standing behind him. He asked for her to keep some volumes aside for him to look at the next day before leaving.

The boredom was one of the worst parts of it all. Ford ended up walking all the way back to his hotel rather than take the tube, just to make some time go by. Being used to the winters of Oregon, he wasn’t bothered by the cold as he traveled by foot, but rather hoped it would help him ignore his fatigue. Unfortunately, at his low amount of sleep, there wasn’t much of anything that would help keep him awake.

When he sat down at the edge of his bed in his hotel room, his willpower was finally overridden by exhaustion, and he fell asleep sitting up. He dreamt of the portal, and he saw a figure identical to himself approach the terminal, activating it. The device came to life, and bright colors erupted from the portal, seemingly barely contained by the structure. Ford watched his dream self walk to the portal, observing it all as if in admiration. Eventually, he turned to face him to reveal Bill’s eyes and a wide grin. Ford woke up three hours later with his right eye nearly crusted shut from dried blood, and his journal next to him full of more crude scribbles of Bill, and a large message across a page: ‘ _GO HOME, SIXER._ ’

He took a cold shower and left his room again, wanting to do anything but encourage sleep. At least three hours could keep him semi-functional for a while longer.

\--

Nancy was just unlocking the doors when Ford arrived. She held the door open for him, saying a quiet ‘good morning’ after her initial shock of seeing him at their door yet again. He just nodded at her and continued straight toward the library. The same librarian was at the desk, she made a friendly remark to him that he didn’t process, so instead she put his books down for him and he retreated to a desk again to continue what was feeling like an impossible task.

There was nothing that identified Bill beyond similar imagery, but it wasn’t hard to find triangles or one-eyed creatures in any mythology. Dreams were too broad of a subject that left too much up to interpretation, and so Ford fell back on exploring several volumes that delved into mind control. Perhaps if nothing else, he could find a way to keep his own mind more secure for the future, and get some proper rest.

Ford shivered; not from being cold but rather an intense spike of nervous energy. Quickly after, he just barely heard the sound of a muted footstep, and turned to see a man in a dark suit approaching him. He didn’t recognize him as any of the other librarians he’d seen flitting about the place, but he did remember seeing him in passing in the lobby from two days ago.

“Apologies, I didn’t intend to sneak up on you.” He said politely. He didn’t stop his approach, only slowed a little bit and took his spot to stand next to Ford at his work table. “Naturally, one doesn’t want to make much noise in a library.”

“It’s fine,” Ford muttered, shutting his journal on the desk. He glanced down at his watch, then back up to the stranger who was eyeing him expectantly. It had only been a few hours, so he wasn’t interrupting him to tell him the library was closing. His eyes were a cold grey looking down at him, and suddenly Ford felt out of place again, looking run-down and crumpled from a lack of sleep. He wasn’t being kicked out, was he? “Is there something you need?” He asked, wary.

He chuckled. “Just to sate some curiosity. James Wright, head of the institute.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake. “I keep a close eye on the place, and we don’t exactly have a vast clientele. I overheard about a young American fellow visiting with a rather extensive academic history, and I had to see for myself.”

“Er- thank you, James. Stanford Pines.” He returned, nearly running over his words. He stood to accept the handshake, taking notice of James' gaze on his hand. He expected him to gawk or look disturbed, but instead just saw mild fascination. It wasn’t the reaction he was used to, and made him shove his hands to his pockets quicker out of self-consciousness. Perhaps it made some sense; a man running an institution dedicated to the supernatural probably wasn’t bothered much by polydactyly.

“The pleasure is all mine, Stanford.” He said, flashing a smile. “It’s quite the trip you’ve made just for our institute.”

“Yes, it’s for part of a… personal project.” Ford said, trying not to cringe knowing that a book of demonology was in clear view on the desk. “It’s an impressive library, I wasn’t expecting this much.”

“And despite this, you seem dissatisfied.” He remarked. Ford opened his mouth to deny, but James waved his hand and continued. “This is a large collection, but we live in a much larger world, and it would be arrogant to say that we had all the answers in this library. Whatever it is you’re researching is rather… unique.”

Ford didn’t answer, but his silence said it all. James had his eyebrows raised in interest.

“What you’re after could be one of a kind, which means that this library is of little use.” James explained, gesturing to the shelves. It wasn’t what Ford wanted to hear, but it was true. “Of course, that’s not the conclusion you want to come to after travelling all this way. If there’s anything I can provide, I’d like to help.”

A large offer, coming from the man at the top. Ford looked down at his desk, at his mess of books and his journal. If the library was going to be useless to him, what else could be offered? He nearly backed out of asking, but he pushed himself through it. “Someone mentioned the archives.” He asked, hesitantly. “I know the public isn’t allowed, but if there’s a case related to what I’m looking for... I need to find it.”

“Ah, yes.” James said, slowly. He touched his chin gently in contemplation, as if considering the request. “The archives could have something relevant. Finding it might prove much more difficult, considering the… organization style, of the current archivist. But, I could see about making an exception to the access policy.”

“I can do the research, your staff won’t have to worry about helping me. I won’t waste anyone’s time.” Ford declared.

The man smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you can pull your own weight there, I’m not concerned. The archival assistants could prove useful for your search. I’ll grant you access, in return for something,” he said, looking back to him intensely. “A statement.”

Ford froze, stuck between being unnerved and confused. He kept hearing that word thrown around in this place. “What does that mean?”

“Consider it an interview. Tell us your story, your experience, or what-have-you. It’s the foundation of our research philosophies, here. You seeked us out for a reason, and we wish to know why.” He explained. When Ford still didn’t move, he continued. “If it’s privacy you’re worried about, don’t be. Tell us as much or as little as you like, and in exchange, you’re free to browse the archives.”

It was a request as small as it was baffling, though it had a weight to it that he couldn’t describe. Even before everything went sideways, Ford was tight-lipped about his work to everyone but Fiddleford, but it wasn’t like that mattered here, especially when his end of the bargain was much more beneficial to him. He couldn’t turn it down. “Sure. I’ll make one.”

“Excellent.” He grinned, clasping his hands in front of him. “I can take you down to the archives immediately, if you like. The head archivist is in, I’ll introduce you and she can take your statement, then the place is yours.”

“I-- thank you. Yes, I’ll just get my things.” Ford nodded along with him, pushing in his chair and grabbing his bag.

He followed James out of the library, noticing the heads of the librarians turned curiously toward the two of them. He tried to ignore them, instead focusing on mentally preparing himself for meeting this archivist, and deciding how to go about explaining, well, everything. He had hoped that the day he would be ‘interviewed’ about his findings, it would be when he had a bit more solid evidence to offer. If he were anywhere but here, he was sure that he would get written off as mentally unwell.

He was led down a set of stairs, feeling the temperature noticeably drop by the time they reached the bottom. The institute seemed like a quiet place altogether, but the basement especially was _silent_. At the end was a closed door, the crack at the bottom showing light. As they approached, James made a gesture for Ford to wait, while he knocked firmly and opened the door.

“Ah, Gertrude, you’re here. Not busy, are you?” He asked, pleasantly.

From where Ford stood, he saw the archivist at her desk, with a pile of loose papers spread out in front of her. “James.” She replied, her tone flat. Gertrude looked older than him, but by how much he wasn't sure; with shoulder-length brown hair in a half-ponytail. She wore glasses that had a fine chain dangling from either side. Behind them, her eyes were cold and hard, and suddenly trained on Ford, who held his breath on instinct. “Who is this?”

“A visitor, all the way here from America for our library.” James said, strolling in. Ford only moved forward when she broke eye contact with him. “I’m permitting him access to the archives, but first he’ll be making a statement.”

She raised her eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that we were making special exceptions, now.” Her tone had a bitterness in it, though she didn’t seem to be saying no. She leaned to the side, sliding open a desk drawer on her end and bringing out some sort of document sheet. “I can’t imagine the research department is too busy for collecting statements on a day like this.”

“I thought you’d want to personally record this one. It could be insightful.” James said.

Gertrude looked back up to James, and her expression was almost suspicious. It was a tense moment before she finally replied. “Very well, then.” She reached back into the same drawer and produced a tape recorder.

“Excellent.” James replied, turning to Ford. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. If you require anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“...Thank you, sir.” Ford said, dazed as the man passed him and closed the door, leaving him alone with the woman who had resumed staring sharply at him.

“Have a seat, young man.” She said, sighing. Slowly, he approached the chair across from her desk while she sorted through the plethora of loose sheets into a neat pile at the corner, face down as to not show its contents. She pushed the recorder to the center between them and started it, letting the gentle whirring fill the space. “So what exactly brings you out this way?”

He almost didn’t reply to her, sitting down with his bag in his lap and suddenly anxious about being recorded. After a second he snapped out of it, stammering out his words. “Part of a personal project I’m doing research for.” He felt like a broken record, saying that phrase so much.

“You’ve traveled a long way for a personal project. Where exactly are you from?” She pressed, folding her arms on the desk in front of her.

“I’m from New Jersey originally, but the past six years I’ve been in Gravity Falls, in Oregon.” He explained. She raised her eyebrow. “It’s... not on most maps. I’ve been studying the town.”

Gertrude nodded very slightly, glancing at the recorder. “I’m curious what you think we here in London could have, that would at all be related to this Gravity Falls, but we’ll get to that.” She remarked. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Stanford. Stanford Pines.” He said, leaning forward.

“Case number 830811, regarding his research of Gravity Falls, Oregon. Gertrude Robinson recording.” She said crisply, for the recorder. “Go right ahead.”

\---

When Ford had first walked down into the archives, he took time to think over what he wanted to give to this institute. He planned for several redactions, including his theory and the portal he had constructed based around it. His intention was to primarily explain his encounters with Bill; instead what came out, was _everything._ The accident, the increase of disturbances in the town, Bill’s nightmares, his recounted thoughts had spooled out and wound themselves into the recording device laid out in front of him. He didn’t think he had it in him to share it all like that.

Gertrude had an expression of great intrigue. “I see, James wasn’t exaggerating.” She huffed.

Dumbfounded, Ford rubbed his hands, trying to piece words together. After speaking in such detail for so long, his brain felt wrung out. “I don’t have to worry about my findings being stolen, do I?” He asked with a light smile. He was only half-joking.

She gave a short, dry laugh, her face remaining serious as she looked at him. “No.” She answered. “This portal, how long does it take to charge fully?”

“Uh- about three weeks.” He said hesitantly. “So, you believe me?”

“I do; I also believe that you’ve left a very dangerous device unguarded.” Gertrude said, a sudden heat in her tone.

Ford tensed. “Of course I haven’t, I’m not a moron! The basement is hidden, and only I have the keys and the passwords.’” He said, pulling his large ring of keys from his pocket.

“You’re _sure_? What about that assistant you mentioned?”

“He doesn't have all the passwords. Even if he did, he wouldn't power it again.” He stated. At least if nothing else, he felt confident in that fact.

“Well that’s a relief, I suppose.” She said after a moment of thought, reaching a hand forward to shut the recorder off, ejecting the tape and picking it up. The silence that followed felt overwhelming. “What exactly were you hoping to find here?”

“My… muse was lying to me. I need to find out what he really is, and how to stop whatever he’s planning.”

Gertrude sighed, crossing her arms on the desk. “I’ve never heard of a ‘Bill Cipher,’ but I am familiar with its ilk.” She muttered. “The device it had you construct would likely cause catastrophe if you powered it fully. It would be best to dismantle it.”

‘ _Fiddleford was right._ ’ His mind echoed to him. He frowned, staring back at her. “How could you know that?”

“There isn’t much else that a creature like that would want. It likely took great pleasure in deceiving you.” She said sharply.

He glowered at Gertrude, but she stared back with a will that proved stronger than his. He looked to the side eventually, gripping the armrest of his chair. “So, what comes next?”

“Normally, this is the part where you leave and we look into the rest. But since James has decided to be… _generous_ , you’ll be here for that part.” She explained, “I’ll have Michael and Eric informed of the new case, and some relevant archived statements will be retrieved for review. Come back tomorrow morning, and they will be ready to work with you.”

Despite the expression on Gertrude’s face that was very obviously indicating that she didn’t like him, she had just handed him the best outcome of the situation. Ford had expected to be left to his own devices, scouring through endless files, but instead it seemed like his case was being researched at a priority level, and with help, no less. He was somewhat dumbfounded by the turnout. “I-- thank you. I’ll be back, then.” He said.

“M-hm.” She hummed quietly. “Now, get yourself some rest and fix that jet lag. It’s going to be a long day for everyone tomorrow.”

Ford stood slowly, gathering up his things and turning toward the door. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, probably, but the motivation of tomorrow’s progress would be enough to keep him awake. Gertrude had mentioned that she knew of creatures like Bill. That meant that information about a weakness had to be present in the institute. He wasn’t leaving until he had it.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Ford returned to the institute and descended into the archives, nerves alight with excitement. He told himself not to get his hopes up too high, but truly he was happy to make any progress at all. Gertrude was in her office filling in a chart when he found her. She greeted him politely enough, despite her cold gaze.

She led him down the hall to a shared office space, where two men looked over from their desks. One younger, with long straw-coloured hair in a loose ponytail; the other looked somewhat older than Ford, with brown hair and glasses.

“Right on time. This him?” The older man said.

“Yes. Stanford Pines,” Gertrude started, gesturing toward the two, “This is Eric, and Michael. They will help you navigate the archives and track down any possible statements of relevance during your stay.”

Ford waved awkwardly to Eric and Michael, before glancing back to Gertrude with a raised eyebrow. “Wait. I had the impression I’d be working with you.” He said.

“I have prior commitments.” She said. “I’ve given them a list of statements to find for you to review, they can help track down any related to those while you do your research. That will hardly need me.”

Ford stood there, unsure of what to say as she walked past him and up the stairs. From the sound of it yesterday, Gertrude had seemed to consider his case to be a priority, and yet now she had pawned him off to her assistants. He would have been more bitter if he wasn’t so confused.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her. She grows on you. Sort of.” Eric said, rising from his desk. Ford approached his desk, looking about the room. Frankly, the whole place was something of a mess. Papers strewn just about everywhere, mismatched labels on file folders, he felt like he was back in university, drowning in articles and study material, not a professional institute. “This your first time in London?” Eric asked, prompting Ford to snap out of his silence.

“First time out of the country, actually.” He said.

“Well, I’ll start by saying that it’s a much lovelier city in the summer.” He chuckled. “But if you’re in this place, of course, you’re not exactly here for the sights.”

“No.” Ford said, clutching at his bag. “I made a statement for Gertrude. Did you..?”

“She gave me a vague summary. Dream monsters, research stuff. She figured that you would give us more details as needed.” Eric explained. “It sounds like we could have a bit of a statement hunt on our hands, but Gertrude gave us a good list to start with. I’ll show you how the filing system works.”

“I’ll get some tea going—” Michael chimed in, abruptly standing from his own desk with a faint smile. “I, ah, I’m unsure if we have any coffee here, but if you’d prefer that I can look for some, Stan.”

“Uh—Ford. Call me Ford.” He interjected. Michael gave him an inquisitive look, until he gave the rest of his answer. “I’ll give tea a try.”

Ford and Eric spend half an hour doing a tour of the archives, and retrieving the dozen case files that Gertrude had left for them to find. It took a few times watching Eric find the case numbers for him to wrap his head around the organization format. Library science wasn’t exactly Ford’s field of expertise, but he could tell by looking that whatever filing system they had in place was obviously not working.

“It’s a mess, I know. If I was qualified, I’d have this place functioning as a real archive and not like a bin.” Eric chuckled.

“You sound more than qualified”

Eric laughed again, slightly drier this time. “Masters degree in library science, yes. Just not qualified—or willing—to run _this_ place.”

Ford nodded absently, feeling like he was out of the loop on some sort of joke. He turned back to the shelf and counted through case file numbers and pulled the next file on the list. “No offense, but I can’t imagine that Gertrude is any more qualified if this place looks like this.” Ford added.

“She has her reasons.” Eric shrugged. “She has a very specific approach to this job, and often it means she isn’t here half the time. We stand by her rules and make it work as best we can.”

Ford gave a thoughtful ‘hm’, checking the list for the next case number, and retrieving it from the bottom of the shelf. “That’s the last one.”

“Excellent. Time for the fun part, I suppose. I’ll clear out some space at the spare desk for you.” Eric said, turning away. Ford followed along, with half the files in his arms.

\--

Michael and Eric left him alone for the most part, returning to their own duties and lingering in case Ford requested any help navigating the archives again, or any other inquiries. He preferred it that way, anyway, not keen on spilling his guts about his recent misadventures all over again. Left to his own devices, he began to work his way through his stack of files, notebook set aside to take notes.

…Notes that ended up more lacking than he would have preferred, by the end of it. Had Gertrude listened to any of what he said, or had she just picked up the vague subject lines of ‘dreams’ and ‘trickery’? He was hoping for information, perhaps at least another case to do with Cipher. Instead, all the statements in his hands were irrelevant. A strange door in one statement, an absurd labyrinth in another; most had something to do with nightmares and confusion, but it was nothing like what he had experienced. Whatever these people went through, whatever entities they were scared by, had nothing to do with him, as far as he was concerned. If he wanted to research an array of bizarre experiences, he wouldn’t have left Oregon.

Was this Gertrude’s way of wasting his time and telling him to leave? She had seemed to take his story seriously, but it was clear she wasn’t pleased about him being here at all. Tough for her, he seemed to have James Wright on his side on the matter, and Ford didn’t plan to leave until he found something.

“Um. Pardon me, ah, Ford?” Michael asked, approaching him. Ford looked up to him, not quite losing the scowl that had been stuck on his face for the past hour. Michael didn’t seem too bothered by it, instead pointing to something at the desk, and a faint smile on his face. “Mind if I take that stapler? I’ve emptied mine.”

“Oh. Here.” Ford said quietly, passing it to his waiting hand.

“Thanks. You know it’s been a boring day when the staples run out quick.” He chuckled, sighing gently. He lingered, rather than backing away again, and Ford took a moment to take in how tall and broad Michael was when he wasn’t tucked away at his own desk. He glanced about the room, presumably for Eric who was still outside smoking a cigarette. “Um, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I wanted to ask about those hands of yours.”

Ford was curious when someone would bring them up. He flexed one hand open and closed, as if to display the functional six digits. “It was a birth defect. Twins are more prone to anomalies, but I was the only one who got any.” He explained. “Never really impacted much aside from a good excuse for bullying.”

“Ah, y-yes. People can be cruel.” Michael said.

“Yeah. It stopped after high school, at least. And it got me interested in studying the weird parts of the world.” Ford said. After a beat, he looked back up at Michael, who was fiddling with the stapler in his own hands. “How did you end up working here?”

“O-oh—not much of a story, really. Right place at the right time?” He stammered, looking to the ground nervously. “I needed a job, and the a-archives had a position that needed to be filled.”

“What’s the job like?” He asked.

“Odd. You read a-a lot of unusual things.” Michael answered. “The travelling is interesting, though I think I’m more useful here. Emma is a much better i-investigator than I am, and I don’t mind the office work.”

Ford nodded, then glanced back to the pile of folders he had sorted through. While none of the statements had been of any use, he still wrote down the referenced case files they gave for other related statements. There was no harm in chasing those ones down, since he had no other directions to try. “Do you mind helping me track down these cases before you go?” He asked Michael, who agreed happily.

\--

Five days passed by.

Gertrude had not been present, but Ford met Emma in that time. The first was in passing, and the second time when she jolted him awake when he was dozing off at his desk. She doted over his exhausted state momentarily, but he waved off her concern stubbornly once his badly-concealed anxiety subsided. Otherwise, Ford became very familiar with Eric and Michael as he carried on with his fruitless research. Between the lack of any leads, Gertrude being no help, and his minimal sleep, his frustration was very apparent.

“I take it you got nothing.” Eric said, sitting down across from him, and pushing a cup of tea toward him.

Ford opened his mouth, wanting to snap, but unsure of where to start. He took a breath, then looked back at Eric. “Is this all a joke to Gertrude?” He asked.

“Hmm. Gertrude isn’t one for jokes.” Eric shrugged.

“She recorded my statement of what I saw. I don’t expect an investigation to be _easy_ , but none of the statements she gave have any correlation, and she’s not even here.” Ford muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Eric’s expression softened. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me what you’ve been through, but… how long exactly are you going to keep going at this?” He asked gently.

“I can’t leave here with nothing.” Ford said adamantly, though in the back of his mind, he had his own wavering doubts. “If I find what I need, I can get my life back on track; I can still fix things.”

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you should go home.” He said. Ford looked at him, frowning. “This place. It’s… not the best. The Magnus Institute prides itself on knowledge, and nothing else. It doesn’t really help people find solutions as much as it tends to… lead you down the garden path, which is what's clearly happening to you right now.”

Ford grabbed his tea mug in both hands, feeling the warmth. “If I learn nothing here, and go home, I lose everything.” He said quietly.

“That’s not true, I promise.” Eric said. “Do you have anyone back home? Friends, family?”

“Fidd—my research partner left me behind, I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again.” Ford said. “I haven’t seen much of my parents, or my baby brother. When my dad finds out my last decade was wasted, I doubt I’ll be welcome back.”

 _’Until you make us a fortune, you aren’t welcome in this household!’_ Filbrick’s words to his brother echoed in his head. That night was a tough one to forget, even after so long.

Eric nodded. “You have a twin, right? Where’s he?” He asked.

“Jail, somewhere, probably.” He spat, suddenly. “It’s his fault, really. If Stanley hadn’t ruined my future the _first_ time, I would’ve gone to my dream school, and never ended up in Gravity Falls!”

Eric watched patiently. Ford slowly calmed down from his anger and looked back to him. He seemed tired; shoulders slumped like something was weighing on him.

“Family is… complicated. I understand.” He explained. “My son, Gerry, he’s almost two, now. Hasn’t been the easiest. Circumstances are, well… the point is, I’ll do anything for him, to make sure he’s safe. I’ll sacrifice a lot for that.”

Eric’s expression was intense, and Ford found himself unsure of how to reply. Eventually, the man took a deep breath, and smiled at him. “I lost you, didn’t I? Sorry.” He said. “I know it seems like a lot, losing time and research and money, but you can still walk away. You haven’t lost everything yet. Keep that in mind, alright?” Slowly, Eric rose to his feet, stretched his arms, and left Ford in his own thoughts.

The next morning, Gertrude was back in the archives, and Eric didn’t show up for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so uncomfortable posting a ~2k word chapter after starting with that 8k monstrosity because that is SO imbalanced but I don't ever want to match that first one again. I also just REALLY wanted to update this because I'm finally writing again! I know not a whole lot happened here, but it's leading to... Things. I promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

That morning, Ford caught sight of Gertrude in the front lobby, where she briefly glared at him before continuing on her way toward James’ office. Michael and him puttered around in the archives until they decided that it was time to be concerned with how late Eric was. Emma refused to call Eric’s house (“You can’t pay me enough to risk interacting with Mary Keay,” she said adamantly) which left Michael anxiously dialing Eric’s house number. When nobody answered, he tried the number of a book store, and stammered inquiries to who Ford assumed was Eric’s wife.

“She said he left the house at the usual time.” Michael said, twisting a strand of his unruly hair between his fingers. “He could still be on his way. Something must have come up.”

Ford wasn’t convinced. He doubted Michael believed that as well. But there wasn’t much they could do for now, or at least until Gertrude was out of her meeting. Until then, Ford retreated to the shelves for a new stack of statements to retrieve, and Emma and Michael focused on their own tasks. The archive was more quiet than usual, and tense.

When Gertrude emerged from the stairwell and marched over to her office, Ford was tempted to follow her in for a chat, but decided to wait as he saw Michael approach her instead, likely to sort out the Eric situation.

Before long, Michael returned to his desk, looking less anxious than before. Did Gertrude tell him something reassuring? If so, Ford didn't feel the same was as he saw Gertrude staring at him from her place in the hallway, beckoning him over with a wave before retreating to her office. Despite wanting a good chat with her for a while now, he felt nervous all over again. 

Ford stood up and followed, seeing the curious glances of both Emma and Michael as he passed them. 

"I see you're still here." Gertrude said as he closed the door and sat across from her. 

He rose an eyebrow at her and scowled. "I haven't found what I needed yet." He retaliated. He wanted to expand on his frustrations with her, but the look in her eye made him hesitate. 

"Do you know anything about Eric being late today?" She asked pointedly.

"No." He blurted before even thinking about it. "I saw him here yesterday as everyone was leaving." The answer rolled so easily off his tongue that it caught him off guard. Gertrude had him unsettled, but was she really intimidating enough to interrogate him like that?

"Hmm. It was worth checking with you, I suppose." She muttered, mostly to herself. "You said you were still looking through the archives?"

"I looked at those statements you marked." Ford said, gathering himself enough to be upset again. "No correlation to Bill Cipher. I've been chasing down every other creature incident with no luck. You haven't exactly been helpful, or here for the matter."

"The help I offered to you was my assistants, and the advice to shut down that contraption right away, which you haven't done." She retorted. " _James_ offered you access to my resources, and nothing more. I never said I knew the creature plaguing your dreams, either."

"Then _why_ waste my time with irrelevant documents, when you clearly don't want me here?" He barked.

"They're not irrelevant--" Gertrude started, then paused to sigh in frustration. "I assumed you'd be more aware of the world, considering your field of expertise."

What the hell did she mean by that? Ford glared at her, fists curled. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be. But I'm not leaving until I actually learn something I need."

"...That's quite alright." Gertrude said through clenched teeth.

Ford avoided Gertrude the rest of the day. Michael attempted small talk with him once or twice, but he gave up eventually as well. He retreated back to the spare desk where his failing investigation was set up, and threw himself into the work.

\--

The archives became more tense as more days passed by with no sign of Eric. Michael filled him in on information as he heard it, which wasn't much aside from dead ends and anxious stammers of reassurance that he would turn up soon. Ford worried for him despite barely knowing him, but he had his own work to consider. He knew how to search through the archives well enough on his own, so he left Michael and Emma to their own increased workload. He had his several branching paths of related cases to follow and hope that they had any involvement with Bill, and when those ran dry, he took to glancing through the heaps of statements that hadn't even made it into the shelves.

Ford had only wished he could continue until he could eventually find his needle in the haystack, but his wallet had other ideas.

His impromptu trip to London wasn't exactly in his budget, and the grant money he received had already begun to diminish weeks ago. The portal project's conclusion and the completion of his thesis was meant to make up for that by now, but since the plans had changed... the income was no longer there. It turned out that booking a hotel last minute in London was exceedingly expensive, and to keep paying would soon mean dipping into the money set aside to fly back home. He had to make his choice soon, and giving up wasn't quite something he was ready for. Especially not after his stubborn declaration to Gertrude.

The head archivist ignored him for the most part, and he did the same to her. He didn't like her, and she seemed coldly indifferent to him. Michael stayed friendly, though spoke with him less as his work got busier, and Emma rarely said much unless it was to dote on Ford's perpetual state of tiredness. His bouts of sleep were short and full of nightmares that he couldn't quite make sense of anymore; as if Bill had quit trying to control him and moved on to constant frustrated outbursts to destroy his ability to rest. 

Ford was zoned out at his desk when Michael approached, with a request from James Wright to speak with him. He wondered what exactly it was about; he hadn’t spoken to the man since he first met him. The man was strange, but not any more-so than any of the others he met in the institute; and regardless of that fact, Ford planned to stay on the good side of the man who gave him access he wouldn’t otherwise have.

He proceeded up the stairs and through a hallway he hadn’t explored before now, and found James’ door at the end of the hall with his name inscribed on it. He knocked on the door firmly before hearing the voice beckoning him inside, and he stepped inside.

“Stanford. A pleasure to see you.” The man said, smiling faintly.

“Same to you.” Ford replied, closing the door behind him and sitting down in the chair across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. You’ve been here a while now, I thought I could check on your progress.” James said, watching him intently. “Have you found anything of use in the archives?”

Ford shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wondering if James knew about the tension between him and Gertrude. Had she said something, or perhaps even Michael or Emma? He wasn’t hiding his disdain for her very well. Thinking over his answer carefully, he spoke up. “Not yet. There are a lot of trails to follow, but one of them should eventually lead the right way.”

“I’m sure that’s the case. I can appreciate the willpower and perseverance required in research, especially into the more obscure fields.” He said, clasping his hands together on the desk. After a beat, he looked away from Ford. “I understand you’ve been very occupied with your project, and as such it is unfair for me to ask this, but I have a request.”

The professional tone of James’ voice faltered as he asked. As far as Ford was concerned, he owed him, despite being unsure of anything he could provide. That, and he was curious. “What is it?” He asked.

“I trust you know our situation with Eric, who is still missing.” He said solemnly. Ford nodded. “While we all hope that he’ll turn up eventually, the fact remains that the archives are perturbed by his absence.”

James reached into one of his drawers and brought out a small stack of papers. “You’ve been here for barely two weeks and you’re already sufficient in navigating the archives, as well as it’s clear that you possess the inquisitive mind that we like to have here.” James explained. “I’ve considered it, and I’m prepared to offer you Eric’s position. You’ve proven yourself competent enough to be able to handle the work, which would help us greatly while we look for a newhire should Eric not re-emerge. You will be permitted to continue your own research, so long as the workload of the archives is balanced out again.”

“You want to hire me.” Ford said, taken aback. When he walked into the office moments ago, he expected that he wore out his welcome, but this was rather the opposite. James only nodded to him, meeting his gaze again. Ford looked down, feeling put on the spot. “Well—I still have a house back in Oregon to pay for, and I’m not sure how simple it is to get a work permit…”

“That won’t be an issue, if that’s what’s stopping you. You would start with a fair wage in proportion to your credentials, and I am more than willing to take care of the paperwork.” James offered. “I contacted your university professors to inquire about you, and they all hold you in high regard. I have trust in you to pull your own weight and more. You would be an asset to us during your stay, and the pay could supplement your living costs. I know London is an expensive city.”

Ford didn’t quite know what to say. It was a perfect opportunity falling into his lap, and one that would solve his most current pressing issue. James watched him patiently, but he still felt the pressure of the decision weighing on him. He took a breath, trying to sort out his thoughts. He did the calculations, and he had just enough money for two more days at his hotel before he’d have to cut into his airfare. He was a hard worker, and he was confident that a job in the archives would be child’s play to him. Working with Gertrude didn’t seem that desirable, but then again, it seemed like she was hardly there most of the time. His options clearly pointed to the best opportunity, he didn’t have a good reason to say no; not unless he was ready to go home with nothing.

Ford retrieved a pen from his jacket pocket, and reached for the paperwork. James smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks sm for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma fucks around because she wants to find out.

"What about Gertrude? I don't think she likes me being here."

"Not to worry, your position is secure." James had said earlier while he and Ford discussed employment terms. "You’re already somewhat familiar with her withdrawn attitude; it’s just a little more… severe with current events. I'll have a talk with her about my decision to hire you on."

There wasn't much left of the day when Ford left his office, and despite that, he didn't feel like he had much of a mind to read more case files. James walked down with him to the basement, proceeding to Gertrude's office while Ford returned to the assistant's office. Michael and Emma turned toward him as he entered.

"You were up there awhile." Emma said, head tilted curiously.

"Yeah." Ford said. "He hired me."

She looked surprised, suddenly turning fully to face Ford. Michael seemed to tune in as well, looking at him with interest. 

"J-just temporarily. I could use the money, and he said you could use the help until Eric is found." He explained.

" _If_ Eric shows up, I'll give him hell for scaring us. Gertrude might wring his neck herself." Emma scoffed.

"Mary must be worried sick, left alone to watch over Gerry." Michael said. "I-I wonder if the police have any leads. I haven't seen them come by here yet."

Emma's expression switched to one that was much gentler, turning to look to Michael. "I'm sure Mary will fill us in as soon as they find him."

The topic of Eric still left Ford uncomfortable. He had just barely gotten to know him before he stopped showing up, and now taking his job during the turmoil of it felt like overstepping.

"Well, congratulations are in order, despite the circumstances." Emma said, smiling. "I can get your duties sorted out as soon as Gertrude figures out where to put you. When do you start?"

"Tomorrow, I... think."

"Wonderful. I'll have to remind myself as well to find you listings for a flat," She said. "One of my mates is selling a mattress as well. Your hotel must have a dreadful one, you just look knackered all the time. Can't be jetlag after this long."

"Uh-- sure, thank you." He said, ready to wave off her concern like usual. Thankfully, he didn't have to as he heard the door to Gertrude's office open.

James stepped out; arms crossed behind his back. He smiled pleasantly at them and took the stairs out of the archive, then Gertrude emerged from her doorway. She stared at Ford intensely. From behind her glasses, her gaze didn't have the normal coldness to it, but rather something Ford couldn't quite place.

"So, you've chosen to stay with us." She remarked, approaching him.

"Just until my research on the side is done." Ford added. "Or a permanent replacement comes in."

She hesitated, looking away before continuing. "Come in early tomorrow, Mandy in administration will have an identification card made for you." She explained. "I'll have Emma train you. Your own research is permitted but not on the clock while you have other assignments to look after, understood?"

"... yes." Ford answered.

"Welcome aboard, then. Be ready for tomorrow." She said stiffly, then turned back toward her office.

\--

Over the next week, Ford learned that he didn't really know what an archiving job was supposed to be like. For all he knew, this seemed more like a research position than anything else. Regardless, this arrangement kept him paid and the resources were interesting. After learning most of his way through the shelves previously, Emma didn't need long to explain general follow-up procedures on case files. The two of them travelled out of the institute once to investigate an area of interest, where she gave Ford full discretion while she observed him, then praised him for his expertise afterward. The work didn't feel much different from his escapades back in Oregon; the setting was more urban and there was less of an intensive scientific approach, but the rest felt the same. If he didn't have a more pressing investigation, he might have spent a lot more time and effort studying the occurrences that the archives had him look into. At least, once a solid lead was found on one. His first field case was a dead end.

He was almost frustrated that the whole of artifact storage was under his nose the entire time, but tried to understand the need for some secrecy involving that. As excited as he was to be permitted entry, he decided on finishing combing through the archives before throwing himself at another department of the institute that was likely just as much of a mess as his current focus. And from the sound of it, this one that was also more dangerous.

Sleep was still an ongoing problem, and stayed on his mind with Emma commenting endlessly on his state. He avoided it still out of paranoid fear, but did have short bouts of rest when his body forced him to get some rest. Most times this happened, he would scare himself awake, even when there wasn't a horrible nightmare. He only ever slept deep enough to dream briefly, and in the blurs of them it was hard to tell if Bill was even truly there. He still couldn't risk it, knowing that Bill was capable of acting through him.

\--

“Stanford, what case was that, again?”

“Case number… 830802, the crushing basement suite?” Ford answered Emma, glancing at the file tucked under his arm. “I can’t get in contact with the landlord, and I’m hoping to look at it myself.”

“That’s the one in Morden?” She asked, standing from her own desk. Ford looked at the address reading ‘Hillcross Ave’, and shrugged. It would probably still take him much longer to figure out the districts of the city. “I’m following up on the Anna Hayle statement, it’s on the way. I’ll take the tube with you, make sure you don’t get too lost.”

Ford tensed his shoulders defensively, but truly he didn’t mind the help to navigate the underground. He nodded, and gathered his own things to get ready for the trip out.

Before long, the two of them were down the street, Ford following Emma awkwardly as she led him to the underground station. At some point she left him on his own without warning, and returned with two cups of tea in hand, holding one out toward him. When their line arrived, barely any passengers boarded, leaving an entirely empty compartment for the two of them to sit in.

“I noticed Michael doesn’t do this as much as you, or even Gertrude.” Ford said.

“Michael’s younger than the rest of our lot.” Emma said softly. “He’s naïve; easily scared. He lost a friend to something he couldn’t explain, and I think that really shook him. After seeing how he reacts to things, we decided it’s best to not involve him in the supernatural aspects of the job. He’s better as an office assistant for us, and he’s more comfortable explaining away the strange things we read about.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem productive, considering where you—we, all work.” He commented.

“Not everyone is cut out for this job, or the _truth_ of it all. It’s too much for some, including him.” Emma said. “Please trust me on this, he’s better off being unaware. It’s safer for him.”

Ford didn’t want to argue on it, and he didn’t know Michael well enough to insist about what was best for him. Soon enough, it likely wouldn’t be his problem, anyway.

Ford yawned, and he saw Emma’s expression change as he did so. “You’re not that old either, but you’ll lose years off your life with those sleeping habits.” She said, watching him. He drained the last of his cup of tea. The caffeine would help, despite the not-so-stellar taste, and the chalky feel on his tongue.

“I’m fine, really. I can take care of myself.” Ford said defiantly. Emma had started sounding like a broken record, and he was on the edge of snapping at her over it. As if his body was working against him, a new heavy wave of fatigue washed over him. Through the tiredness, he barely had it in him to panic about it.

“Just one good night’s sleep ought to fix it all for you. You just need to take it.” Emma said, suddenly sounding far away. The background noise of the tube felt hypnotic, and he could feel his head drooping to the side. Had he really worn himself out this much to pass out on the subway, with barely the strength to power through it? Emma said something else to him, but it was lost on his ears, and soon enough his eyes were closing.

When they opened again, Ford stood up so abruptly that Emma next to him jumped. She watched intently from her seat as he flexed his hands and rotated his neck. When he finally looked down to her, it was with an uncomfortably wide smile, and strangely abnormal pupils, barely noticeable behind his glasses.

“You know? I think you’re right! A good long rest is what I need.” Ford said, both louder and an octave higher from his normal tone. He chuckled, then patted at his coat pockets. “I hate to be a bother, Em, but I forgot something back at the institute. Silly me. I should double back now. Seeya around!”

As the tube came to a halt, Ford exited and made his way to the other end of the track. Emma followed at a distance, keen to watch what he would do next. If he noticed her, he didn’t seem to care. He’d let her sate her curiosity. He owed her that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is me fucking around and basically if you didn't catch on: Emma put something in his tea to knock him out. Idk how realistically that would happen unnoticed on a train but I'll excuse the fallacies there and just say that Ford is oblivious to all tomfoolery and also The Web makes tomfoolery much more sneaky lmao. Play with me in this space.
> 
> Honestly, I'll probably have the next chapter up within the next day or so because it's the scene I'm most excited about! I was thinking about including it in this chapter but this felt like a good cutoff point. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BILL BILL BILL BILL BILL

Gaining just a shred of lucidity was a struggle. When Ford finally worked past the fog of it all, he found himself in his cabin. Through the door and the windows, he only saw swirling colours like he was in a painting; looking too long just made it harder for him to focus all over again.

Shit. He was asleep.

“Well, well,” Bill’s voice sounded from all around him. By the next moment, he had materialized in front of him, spinning his cane. “And I was getting worried that I wouldn’t have another chance to chat with you!”

“What did you do to me?!” Ford demanded, backing away from him.

“Nothing yet. You can’t blame this one on me, Fordsy. You’ve been exhausting yourself for weeks; you were bound to collapse in a heap eventually!” He answered. “I gotta say, you did have me uneasy for a while when your dreams got harder to invade. I’m curious how you pulled that off, but it doesn’t matter much anymore.”

“No, no— I was being so careful! This can’t happen now.” Ford shouted to himself. “I’m not going back, and I’m not turning on that portal, I know you’re a monster!”

“No shit, sherlock, of course I’m a monster. Good for you for finally getting smart, but I don’t need you willing anymore.” Bill laughed. As if to demonstrate, his form shifted, and Ford was looking at an illusion of himself, smiling darkly. “Thanks to a little help, you should be out for a good while, long enough to get you on your way home. I have a hunch that sleeping pills could keep you down longer, too. Once your keys and passwords are entered, it’s just a matter of keeping your fleshsuit around to open the portal! Handcuffing you to a pipe should keep you from running off again, or maybe I’ll just break your legs!”

“No! I need to wake up, damn it!” Ford cried out in frustration, pacing around the room. Bill only laughed as he began to throw open doors as if one could be his way out of the dream.

“Feel free to have your tantrum, Sixer, I’ll take care of things from here!” Bill said, dissolving away with another cackle.

\--

It didn’t take long to get back to the front steps of the Magnus Institute. Bill scoffed at the Latin words displayed at the entrance before waltzing on in. Of course, some stuffy library was exactly the type of place for Ford to run off to. He did have his own curiosity if his existence had ended up referenced in a case file, to know if Ford’s search wouldn’t actually be a waste of time. Regardless, even if it did, he doubted that any shred of knowledge could stop him at this point. Taking Ford’s journals back would be easy, and then he could get everything back on track.

“Oh—Stanford?” The receptionist called out to him. Bill looked at her, smiling. “Mr. Wright was just looking for you, he said to go to his office when you had a chance.”

“Oh? Sure thing! I was hoping to chat with him anyway.” He replied, turning for the stairs.

He stalked up to the door at the end of the hallway, opening it without bothering to knock. He found the older man seated at the desk; James Wright, as the nameplate suggested. He smiled at Bill.

“Ah, excellent. come in, Stanford." He said, gesturing out to the chair across from him. Bill stifled a laugh, and complied.

"What can I do for ya, bossman?" He asked, leaning back comfortably in his seat.

"Just checking in on your first week. I trust that training has gone smoothly?"

"Gosh, I just love it! The coworkers, the endless ghost stories; couldn’t ask for a better place!" Bill chattered on, grinning.

"That's a relief. I was confident that you would be well suited to the archives, I'm happy to see that I was correct."

Bill nodded along with him, then faked a wistful sigh. "Its just a shame that it wont work out."

"...oh? Would you care to elaborate?" James turned his gaze curiously toward him.

Bill shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I acted a little hasty in all this. A big weird library to explore got me excited, but I have big plans at home to get back to."

"This is a bit of a surprise." James said, crossing his arms in front of him. "I had the impression that you wanted to complete your search in the archives before leaving. Are you sure?"

"Sometimes I just don't know what's best for me in the moment, but I have work to finish." He declared. "Them's the breaks, boss, I— uh—"

The words didn't quite leave him, instead his mind seemed to blank all at once, making Bill do a full-body shudder. He frowned, sitting up straight and taking a breath. Even thinking of the phrase made it fall away, with no luck after a handful of attempts.

"I beg your pardon? I didn't catch that." James said, slowly.

"I..." Bill muttered, looking down.

"You sound unsure of yourself, _Stanford._ " James continued. "Perhaps you should take some time to think about it."

The mere idea of abandoning the institute on Ford's behalf was a concept that blocked his ability to act. Bill looked at James, and saw a smirk on his face. In realization, Bill curled Ford's hand into a fist and slammed it down on the desk.

" **WHAT?!** " He shouted, wearing a deep scowl.

The two stared each other down for a time. James remained calm and collected, while Bill appeared to be losing his previous composure.

"Bill Cipher, I presume? We haven't been formally introduced. You can call me James." He said, business-like. "Stanford Pines isn't going anywhere."

"Care to explain how that's supposed to stop me?" Bill growled through his teeth.

"Gladly." James smiled, "I offered your vessel employment, and he signed on, binding himself to the institute. He can't relinquish the position, and should you attempt to remove him without my approval, his state of being will decline rapidly. You would be lucky to reach Gravity Falls before he perished."

Bill shook his head in disbelief. "No! He’s not your pawn, I claimed him years ago! You have no idea how much work I’ve put into him!"

"You must admit, he's a perfect fit under the Ceaseless Watcher, no?" James said, "I'm impressed with your strategy; enticing him to find the source of the impossibilities of that town so steeped in the Spiral's influence. To think we had no idea about this ritual, or how far along it was... we were lucky he fled to our doorstep when he did, or you might have succeeded."

He looked down at the floor, considering his options. He should have known that this place had more going on than it seemed. Opposing forces hadn’t been a problem for him in a long time, with Gravity Falls being established as his domain for so long. Of _course_ Sixer had to run headfirst into the arms of a particularly insufferable one. “Don’t talk like I’ve already lost. You’ve trapped him here, but that doesn’t protect you right now, smart guy.” Bill said, leaning over the desk.

“Ah—yes, it does, actually. I nearly forgot.” James said, casually enough as if he wasn’t being threatened. Bill raised his eyebrow. “Stanford is tied to the institute, as I explained, and the institute is tied to me. You hurt me or this establishment, and he pays the price.”

Bill stared at him, looking for his bluff, but he knew a lie when he heard it, and this wasn’t one. James continued, “I am aware that you need him to start the portal, and since I have him effectively trapped as a hostage, I would consider that as checkmate.”

James Wright punctuated the end of the sentence with a smug grin, and Bill just scowled more, backing up and gripping fistfuls of Ford’s hair. “No! It was all finally coming together— you can’t just rip it all away from me like this!” He bellowed.

“And I haven’t spent centuries dedicated to the Watcher just to have the world consumed by your lot.” James replied. “Now, accept your losses and leave Stanford to me.”

What was he? He really shouldn’t have overlooked this place. He looked over to the portrait on the wall, staring at the piercing eyes of the figure before looking back to James, finding the calm within himself. “No.” He declared. James began to lose his self-satisfied look. “Just because I’ve lost, doesn’t mean I’m giving you my favorite toy. I can’t hurt _you_ or the institute, but I wonder if those underlings of yours are breakable? Let me know if you decide to release Fordsy after all, and maybe I’ll hold back!”

James stood up in alarm just as Bill knocked the contents of his desk down to the floor, and left the office with a dark chuckle.

\--

Gertrude sat in her office; head held in her hands. The quiet moment barely felt peaceful, not when she felt like she needed to be in three places at once. The search for Eric had found her nothing. James insisted that it was best to give up, but she wasn’t keen on trusting him to have their interests at heart. Especially not when he was hiring that American without even consulting her on the matter. What was his game? Sure, it seemed like this Stanford character had burned away most of his connections in the fallout of his work, and it would be wise to keep him from starting that portal, but trapping him permanently with them was bound to have consequences that Gertrude refused to take responsibility for.

She sighed, reaching for her tape recorder and statement file. It wasn’t a case that was guaranteed to hold importance, but it seemed smart to make a recording for future reference. She reached for her recorder to set it up, but before she could, something else happened instead.

The play button pushed in on itself. It wasn’t uncommon, for the recorders to act up, though Gertrude put a stop to it when she could. Normally, it was a case of them listening in without anyone pressing them. This was the first time she saw the play button get pushed on its own, rather than the recording switch. She hadn’t even put a tape in yet. Instinctively, she picked up the player and turned it around in her hands, in search of spiderwebs. None.

The sound that came was heavily distorted with squeals and static, but the longer it went, the more Gertrude tuned in to a frantic voice.

“Wake… up, damn it! Wake up! I have to… wake up!” Stanford’s voice repeated. The cadence varied randomly, showing that it wasn’t on loop. Gertrude raised her eyebrow, wondering what exactly this meant.

A moment later, she heard crashing from outside her office.

\--

Bounding down the creaky stairs, Bill entered the archives. He had brief glimpses of the place through Ford, enough to know the layout, but he hadn’t cared much about that, truly. What did matter was the employees down here that were likely awfully important to the work of that smug man upstairs.

The first person he laid sights on was the one with the unruly blonde hair, crossing through the hallway with an armful of files. He smiled faintly at who he probably assumed was Ford, but turned to confusion as Bill stepped close, throwing an arm across his shoulders.

“Morning, Mikey! Workin’ hard?” Bill asked, smile showing a little too much teeth to be friendly.

“G-good morning? I-I thought just saw you and Emma leave not long ago…” He said, sounding baffled. Bill tightened the arm around him, and Michael flinched uncomfortably. “Are you alright...?”

“Never better, all sunshine and rainbows here!” He bellowed. This assistant was an interesting case, Bill realized, as he came up close enough to peer into his mind. He had his own mark of terror from something like him, something similar. Not to mention, a path that could lead him to something much darker… “When one door closes, another one opens, amiright? Remember that!”

“W-what are you saying?” Michael stammered, beginning to look properly scared. He was no Ford Pines, but he did love the fear rolling off of him. It would make the next part even more fun.

“Nothing that matters right now!” Bill replied, before pulling away from Michael and shoving him with the full force of Ford’s body, causing the papers in his hand to fly through the air. Michael was bigger than him, but in the surprise of it, he crashed into the desk nearest to him, toppling over it and hitting the ground hard. Bill laughed, watching Michael groan in pain and begin to crawl backwards, trying to get away.

“St—F-Ford…?” He muttered, terrified.

Bill vaulted over the desk, grabbing the first larger object in reach—a stapler. Not exactly a great weapon, but it had a good weight to it. He threw it at Michael, who barely managed to dodge it, but couldn’t avoid Bill pouncing onto his prone form, his knee holding down one of his arms painfully as he flailed.

“Nothing personal, kid!” Bill said, laughing as he pulled back a fist, relishing in the confused panic on Michael’s face.

“ _What do you think you’re doing?_ ” Gertrude said, sharply.

Bill froze, hand still poised to hit Michael. “I’m teaching that boss of yours what happens when he takes my stuff.” He answered immediately, then looked over to Gertrude in his peripheral vision. The rush of compulsion felt odd, almost fascinating. “That’s a neat trick! Where’d you learn that?”

“It comes with the territory.” She said, unfazed. Her stare was intense, and Bill wondered if her eyes would be glowing if the room was dark. That same magic coated her words as she continued. “ _Who are you, and what are your intentions with Stanford Pines?”_

That request wasn’t exactly one Bill wanted to fulfill for her, but the pull of her ability wasn’t the type of pain he found funny to bear. After a moment of struggle, he let it force him to comply. “Bill Cipher. I’m sure Fordsy has raved about me already.” He said, gritting his teeth. “I've been telling him that he needs to stop running away and finish what he started, and now I've had to take matters into my own hands. Would’ve been more fun if he went through with it obliviously, but it doesn’t matter as long as I get that rift to open!”

“So, it is a ritual, then. You would use him to usher in a world of fear?” Gertrude muttered, walking the length of the desk between them. Bill shifted his weight to follow her gaze, easing up on Michael pinned below him. He ignored the man as he got himself free and scrambled away. He was just a small fry anyway; this Archivist would be better collateral to dangle over James. He stood up and faced Gertrude, smirking.

“I guess you could call it that.” Bill replied, shrugging. “All that matters is, this reality is gonna learn how to party when that portal charges up!”

“Perhaps it was for the best that your protégé is bound here, as frustrating as it is.” Gertrude said to herself, stepping closer to him. Bill mirrored her action, approaching as well with curled fists.

“You really think that’s gonna stop me? You have no idea who you’re dealing with!” He barked.

“Neither do you.” She said coldly.

Without warning, a well-placed kick at the back of Ford’s knee forced him to the ground. He shouted in anger, whirling on his way down to see that assistant from the underground. She had a hard expression, though that twinkle of curiosity was still there. What was her game? Bill didn’t have much time to consider it before Gertrude closed the distance and swung something heavy at his head, knocking Ford into a true unconscious state.

\--

An unsure amount of time later, Ford came to. He looked around, unable to focus without his glasses, and his head pounding like nothing else. His whole body felt stiff, and as he tried to stretch, he found himself immobilized. Slowly, he fought his way into awareness and realized he was in Gertrude’s office, tied to her chair.

Oh god. It was starting to come back to him.

His right eye was stinging, and felt like it was tearing up. If the last few weeks told him anything, he’d wager that it was bleeding again from whatever his muse’s influence did to him. Just as he started to properly struggle and try to look around, footsteps approached from the open doorway. “Stanford Pines, I hope?” Gertrude asked. From her tone, Ford had a horrible feeling.

“I-it’s me.” He replied, trying to fight off both the grogginess and the panic rising in his chest.

The Archivist sat down in her own chair across from him, and gave an exasperated sigh. She dropped three heavy books in front of her, and through his blurry vision, he recognized them as his journals. “You’re becoming more trouble than I expected.” She said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter was so fun to write. It had some of the scenes I imagined so vividly when I was first brainstorming this fic!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and happy holidays everyone!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford gets caught up to speed, and Gertrude takes a trip.

What is the last thing you remember?" Gertrude asked.

Ford had gone pale, looking down at the floor in concentration. His mind was still foggy, and the splitting headache wasn't helping. "I... I was on the metro, with Emma. We were heading the same way for different follow-ups." He said. The details were still blurry. "We were talking, and I just fell asleep."

He couldn't see her face without his glasses, but Ford would bet money that she was frowning. Since he had woken up back at the institute, that must have meant... "How long was I out? Did Bill...?" He trailed off, too scared to even ask.

"Cipher brought you back to the archive, presumably for your keys and journals." Gertrude explained, "Emma followed him back to warn me, but not before he came across Michael."

Oh no. "I-I'm so sorry. Is he okay?"

"Shaken and bruised, but no serious injuries. I'm sending him on stress leave for a few weeks. He will not be pressing charges." Gertrude said, tone turning sharp as she continued. "You never told me that he could assume total control of you."

"He only ever did to help me draw up blueprints, and calculations. He's never done… _that._ ” Ford said. "He taunted me with messages in my journals in the past weeks, whenever I would doze off; maybe I wasn't sleeping heavy enough for him to fully take over until now."

"Well, regardless, your ' _muse_ ' has gotten serious about activating your device as soon as he can." She said, then sighed. "I thought I would have more time before needing to prioritize the issue, but airline costs are trivial in the situation of disaster, and Cipher might very well find another way without you."

Ford's head snapped up to look at her. "You're going to Gravity Falls?" He asked. She nodded. "What will you do?"

"What you should have done instead of coming here." Gertrude replied. "If your portal charges completely, our world changes in horrible ways. It must be destroyed."

' _This machine is dangerous. You’ll bring about the end of the world with this!_ ' Fiddleford had said. Ford had refused to consider the idea; even when he met Gertrude, he pushed away the consideration that his work was all for some monster's scheme. Now, every red flag he overlooked hung over him in mockery. All of his choices were blowing up in his face. 

"...I'm a fool, aren't I?" Ford muttered. Gertrude stayed quiet. "I was so oblivious, I spent _years_ on this, and for what? I thought I could at least salvage it if I found something here, but..." 

Gertrude exhaled slowly, leaning her arms on her desk. "You've made some grave mistakes, but bringing it to our attention was not one of them." She said after a moment of thought. "At least we're not too late." 

Ford gave her a curious look. "Gertrude, what exactly is your job?" He asked. She sighed again, and looked down, as if trying to decide how to answer the question. 

"There are sinister forces at work in this world. Some are like your Bill Cipher, others represent a different type of dread." She spoke. "They seek to change our reality through rituals, to make an unending nightmare in the image of their masters. I will _not_ let them succeed." 

Ford's jaw dropped slightly. This truth of the world, hidden under his nose the whole time. Despite encountering all types of monsters and strange things in his life, he felt like he once again knew nothing. He would have called the revelation fascinating, if not for the shame of what he had been playing into. 

He recovered from his shock and collected himself, shifting his bound body to a slightly different position. "I-- I'll help. I want to fix what I've done." He stammered. 

“Good.” Gertrude spoke, opening a drawer and retrieving what looked to be a notepad. “You can start with providing directions and access to your home.” 

“Directions?” Ford tilted his head. “I-I’m coming with you, aren’t I?” 

" _You_ will be staying here. I will take care of things in Gravity Falls." Gertrude said pointedly. 

"What? No, this is my project, I have to do this—" 

"Bill has been trying desperately to get you back to America, do you intend on helping him with that?" Gertrude snapped, making Ford wince. "You will be a liability over there; _I'll_ take care of things. We need at least two attending the archives, anyway." 

Ford looked away, nodding faintly in understanding. 

"Take care not to fall asleep like that again. Emma is aware of your situation, organize something with her to keep yourself restrained if you need rest. Sleeping within the institute may also provide some resistance to Bill's control of you." Gertrude explained. "…If there is anything small you need from home— documents or trinkets—leave me a description of what to retrieve for you." She finished; tone gentler than before. 

"...Okay." Ford replied quietly, then began to shift again. "Can you untie me now? And do you have my glasses?" 

Gertrude stood up slowly, making her way to behind his chair and started unravelling his bonds. "Your glasses are on your desk; during Bill's… altercation, the frame was bent." She said. 

"I can fix them. I have a spare at home, too. I'll put them on the list." He replied, stretching his arms out the moment they were free. He touched the side of his head, feeling an angry swollen welt on his temple. If he needed another reason not to sleep, the likely concussion would be it. He stood up slowly, breathing carefully as his headache flared. “I’ll start on those directions for you, it’s easier if I write them out.” 

“Very well. Thank you for your cooperation.” She said, almost businesslike as she returned to her side of the desk. Ford glanced at his journals, tempted to ask for them back, but decided against it. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t oblige after all that happened, and she would likely need them for her trip, anyway. 

As he left the office and shuffled his way down the hall, he spotted the blurry shape of Emma at her desk. She made a tiny gasp when she noticed him, but otherwise remained silent. Ford couldn’t see or read her expression, but regardless decided to leave her be as he retreated to his corner. 

\-- 

Gravity Falls was a strange town, indeed. 

Gertrude felt it as soon as she drove her rental car past the sign, as if crossing a veil. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering the scheme that had nearly come to fruition, though she was curious if the nature of the place was because of Bill Cipher’s plan, or if it had attracted Bill to it. If it were in her power to do so, she wondered if it would be worth it to do away with the entire area, and remove anyone who would passively feed the powers existing there. 

She had skimmed through Ford’s journals during her trip over. If she hadn’t taken a statement from him, she would have likely scoffed at the various entries of far-fetched creatures. However, compelling didn’t allow for lies, and the extensive detail provided on ‘gnomes’ and ‘kill-billies’ suggested that these creatures were quite tangible. The rest of her doubt was silenced when she came across a familiar entry regarding a mysterious door that led to strange places and disappeared intermittently.

The Spiral was the best fit she could assume, with the experiences described by Stanford. An entire town filled with creatures beyond comprehension; perhaps it instilled a fear of being disregarded, or questioning their own state of mind when seeing such strange things, and the consequences that would follow. With such an array of strange happenings in one area, the true root of the cause could likely be more ambiguous, but so long as the ritual was dealt with, she wouldn’t have to contemplate it too much.

She made her way straight for the house in the woods, not keen on being spotted by townsfolk if an investigation would follow. The dirt road was rather treacherous, covered in an unplowed blanket of snow, but she managed well enough, eventually coming upon the cabin. It appeared as expected for a home of a paranoid scientist; partly fenced off with barbed wire, dotted with cautionary signs, and what looked like a radio tower and a satellite dish. The windows appeared to be haphazardly boarded up with wood planks as well. Stanford did _not_ exaggerate about keeping the place secure during his absence, at least. She used the several keys she took to unlock the front door and pushed it open.

Dealing with the portal was likely going to be a long endeavor, and surely would end with the house coming down, so Gertrude began with the short list of items that Ford requested. It was mostly official documents he couldn’t afford losing, as well as his spare eyeglasses, and several pairs of six-fingered gloves— “Modifying them to fit comfortably took a lot of time, I don’t want to lose them.” He said when she questioned him about them.

She was thankful for Stanford cooperating with her; she didn’t like the idea of compelling him for the information she needed to get to Gravity Falls, especially considering that he was part of the archives, now. No need to tense that relationship any further. His willingness at least showed that he was learning to put his pride aside, and allow his work to be destroyed. That kept the act from being any more complicated than it had to be.

She placed the gathered items into the trunk of her car, then retrieved two heavy cans that sloshed loudly as she carried them inside. She had four cans of gasoline in total; she only really needed to destroy the basement, but bringing down the house above it would help bring peace of mind. With the clutter all around, she was in no short supply of kindling. Once she brought them all in, she set them aside and flipped open her notebook to read the directions to access the portal chamber.

If it weren’t for the serene quiet of the snow-covered woods, she wouldn’t have heard the subtle creak of a footstep on the porch as someone approached. Gertrude wasted no time ducking around the corner as the door was gently pushed open. They were trying to be quiet, but in the silent house, Gertrude could hear their movements well. She tucked herself behind a half-wall and waited.

The stranger sounded like they were shuffling about nervously before shutting the front door, then began to cautiously walk around, likely searching for her. Stanford mentioned that townsfolk avoided his house; perhaps she wasn’t cautious enough. Worse, had Cipher found another host to work through? No, this person sounded too skittish to be that creature.

The stranger cleared their throat. “N-now see here—” The person stammered in a southern accent, “I don’t know who you are, but y-you shouldn’t be here, you saw the signs out front.”

Gertrude stayed silent, listening as their footfalls approached her end of the room.

“Whatever it is you’ll find here, you’ll regret.” They spoke, getting closer. “Come on out, now. Let’s talk.”

Passing by, Gertrude saw their extended hand first, holding out something that looked similar to a gun. She seized her chance and sprung out from her spot, grabbing their arms first to try and restrain the weapon. She would rather have them tell her what it did than find out firsthand. He was a man with unkempt brown hair and glasses, his stature not much larger than her which made him an easy force to match. He cried out in surprise and thrashed in the struggle, not attempting to attack her but desperately trying to keep the device in his own hand. It didn’t take long to wrestle it from his grip, and he jumped away in alarm as soon as she had it pointed at him.

“Put it down! You don’t know how to use it.” He said, eyes fixed on the gun in her hand.

“This device, what does it do?” Gertrude asked, her words channeling power.

“It— _erk—_ ” He cut himself off, trying to fight against it briefly. “—it erases memories. Th-this place is bad news, nobody should see what’s here!”

Stanford had commented that his project had been affecting the citizens in strange ways, was this what he meant? Had they learned to fear the epicenter of the town’s oddities? The man’s claim on what the thing in her hand could do, it sounded implausible, but she would take his word on it.

“Who are you?” Gertrude compelled.

“F-Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.” He answered shakily. On his face, she could see his own confusion setting in.

‘ _Stanford’s assistant?_ ’ Gertrude realized. “I had the impression that you were against this project. Why are you protecting it?” She asked.

“Project?” He frowned, “Now, I-I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Just give me that gun and leave the premises!”

Did he not know? Gertrude sighed in frustration. A name like that couldn’t be a common one. “Did you assist Stanford Pines with his research here?” She asked sharply.

“Y-yes? I did…” Fiddleford trailed off; the confusion on his face changed to sudden panic, and he began to shout. “What are you doing to me?! I erased that—it should be gone!”

Gertrude’s eyes flickered to the gun in her hand. So, he was using it on himself as well. It seemed that it wasn’t fully permanent, if The Eye could still pull the memory out of him. She didn’t like to resort to it, but compelling him into a statement could buy her the time to subdue him properly. Not to mention, knowing another perspective would be useful.

“Fiddleford, you’re going to take a seat and tell me everything you know about Stanford Pines.” She ordered, staring intensely at the man. She saw his breath quicken, then all at once his fear seemed to paralyze him, and he walked stiffly towards the kitchen table in the next room. She followed him slowly, digging the tape recorder out from her bag and laying it on the table between them, and pressed the record button. “Statement of Fiddleford McGucket, regarding Stanford Pines’ research in Gravity Falls. Recording date 4th of December, 1983. When you’re ready.”

Fiddleford was trembling in his seat, eyes darting about wildly. Gertrude had the impression that he was reliving his memories as they came back to him, and it didn’t look pleasant.

“I-I erased all of this for a reason. I wish to unsee what I have seen. I don’t know who, or _what_ you are, but you got no right makin’ me remember all this.” He muttered with a terror-laced scowl. Gertrude stayed quiet, and eventually he continued. “We were close friends at school, Stanford and I. Once we both graduated, the two of us parted; he went off to Oregon to chase his anomalies, and I set up my computer business in California. We joked that we’d see each other in the newspaper one day, but I really didn’t expect his call, years later. His idea would make history, of course I wanted to help. It was possible, and he and I could _do_ it.

“We did more than just dig out the basement and construct the portal; I helped him on his field studies as well. I don’t particularly like the outdoors, and there isn’t much more than outdoors in this hamlet. We went on an expedition to gather resources, and on the way back, I was attacked by a creature. I don’t remember what he named it, but I remember seeing my worst fear, and barely making it out alive, or intact. I couldn’t relax after that, even my sleep was nothing but bad dreams. Stanford tried to help me, but there was only so much he could do. I was the one who made the memory gun, and that finally took away the nightmares of that day. But with Stanford, there was always another monster around the corner, and I was never quick enough to avoid getting hurt. When we built the bunker and housed that shapeshifting thing there to study it, it got smart enough to break out and overpower me. Stanford chided me about using the memory gun so much, but he didn’t understand how bad it all was. I couldn’t live like that. _He_ wanted to hunt monsters, not me. He stopped bothering me about it when I wiped the existence of the gun from his mind, at least, and I found my peace again.

“Constructing the portal was a… a complicated matter. Stanford already had some blueprints before I even got to town. He was very particular about the design, but he still trusted enough in my mechanical skills to tweak a few things. Once we moved on to the trickier aspects of construction, about halfway into it, was when he started changing. He was unpredictable, and he _never_ slept. He would just meditate, then get into these strange moods after. His notes started getting more abstract; I saw some of the calculations he made, and I don’t think they actually made sense. They shouldn’t have amounted to anything, but when we started our test runs, the portal was functioning. I reckon… w-well, it felt like the only reason it was working, was because he believed it would.

“I tried convincing him to quit, that it wasn’t worth the risk of catastrophe, but he refused to stop. I spent three days writing out a thesis paper of his findings in Gravity Falls, practically begging him to publish it under his own name. That would have made him a multimillionaire, easily, but he didn’t even look at it. He insisted that he would continue with the dummy test, with or without me. I was angry with him, but I decided to be there, in case something went wrong.

“Something did go wrong. And again, I paid the price for it.” Fiddleford said, voice shaking. “The gravitational anomalies were getting more aggressive as time went on, and one knocked me off my feet, toward the gateway. Stanford pulled me out, but the things I saw on the other side of that rift, I… I can’t even begin to comprehend. I only hope you’ll let me forget it once more. That was the last straw. I told him, _again_ , that the portal needed to be destroyed, and he wouldn’t do it. So, I left him behind. If I couldn’t stop him, I was at least going to have no more part in it.

“Gravity Falls is infested with things beyond comprehension. Stanford chased and studied them, but the townsfolk lived in fear, and as the portal project went further along, it amplified that fear. At least with my invention, I could help them forget. I didn’t understand until now why I was keepin’ an eye on this house, maybe it was just an instinct leftover from the memory wipe. It looks like Stanford hasn’t destroyed us yet, at least.”

Gertrude watched him carefully. Fiddleford seemed to revel in the fact that he wasn’t forced to speak anymore, and as he gathered himself, he seemed to be calming down, at least enough to not try and lash out at her.

“It will take more than forgetting to stop what the portal might bring.” Gertrude said, turning the memory gun over in her hand. “I am only here to see it destroyed, and if all goes well, I won’t be back. It would benefit us both if you do not interfere again.”

“W-who exactly are you?” Fiddleford asked, hesitantly. “How do you know about all this? Where’s Stanford?”

“Stanford is in England. He fled to the Magnus Institute in London shortly after your accident to search for answers,” She answered. The answer seemed to take him aback. “…he is unfit to return and destroy it himself, so I am taking care of the matter.”

Gertrude was unsure if telling him the truth was a good idea. The man wasn’t exactly stable after all that he experienced. Although, she already knew the device in her hand could remedy that issue. What she didn’t expect, was to see Fiddleford’s anger return so intensely.

“He left?” He said, voice quiet and strained. “H-he called me a coward; you know. He refused to take any of my advice when I stopped saying what he wanted to hear. He didn’t believe me when I said it would destroy everything, but once he realized for himself that things weren’t going right, he runs halfway across the _world_ , and can’t even clean up his own mess?”

Gertrude said nothing. His expression shifted from betrayed to incredulous. “I stuck out my neck for him, I left my wife and _son_ behind to help him achieve his dreams, and what has he done for me? I’m terrified and broken because of him, and he can’t even face his mistakes.” Fiddleford snarled, fists curled tightly. He looked at Gertrude with a fierce expression, he appeared to have made a decision. “Let me help you. I built the portal chamber; I know which pillars are load-bearing.”

\--

The tape recorder clicks on again, from a hotel room far from Gravity Falls, hours later.

“Final comments: McGucket’s help made the job quicker than expected. He used the fuel left in the portal room, and some spare equipment in the lab to engineer some timed explosives that worked quite well in destroying the lower levels. My supply of gasoline leveled the house on top. I considered leaving the three journals behind to burn, but should I or my successors need to return to Gravity Falls, it may be useful to have a complete field guide.

“While I am still certain that this portal was an attempt at a ritual, I have my doubts that the energy gathered to perform such a feat has fully dissipated. The Spiral is still my main suspect, and it is not known for its adherence to rules. There is a chance that a ritual attempt may still be possible in the near future, and it may need to be interrupted in a more devastating way. Cipher is still a dangerous enemy, but at least he no longer has a ticking time bomb to work with. I’ll find a way to deal with him permanently soon enough.

“McGucket asked me to pass on a bitter message to Stanford: never come back. Neither of them will need to worry about that happening; I am unsure if there is a point to fulfilling this request. I did oblige him in erasing his mind again, though I wonder if he will sleep as well as before. He doesn’t recall anything about Stanford Pines, myself, or the device he created to wipe away those memories. He won’t need it, anymore.

“I made it to the edge of town before the smoke could be seen from the sky. The local radio reported that the police were suspecting the cause to be arson, with one suspect in custody, arrested at the scene.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Gertrude takes care of her job, Cipher explores his options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A content warning for this chapter: graphic descriptions of eye trauma and hand trauma, with a mention of tendons. Be advised!

When Gertrude left, Ford was tense.

He understood her reasoning for keeping him behind, he _did_ , but it didn’t assuage the guilt he felt of not being able to see it through himself. The portal was going to be destroyed, and with that, his home. She hadn’t directly said that it was going to be gone, but it didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that she didn’t care about integrity of the property sitting on top of the doomsday device. At least she did the courtesy of offering to retrieve the essentials for him.

The archives were already a quiet place, so being down to two workers didn’t make much of a difference. Ford spent the first two hours avoiding being in the same room as Emma while he tried to figure out what the hell to say to her. It wasn’t an easy task to think while his headache persisted. 

Gertrude said that it was only Michael that got hurt, but was that true? He was with Emma when he fell asleep. He couldn’t properly remember how it happened, and once Bill took the wheel, he had no idea. What if Bill did something to her before going back to the institute? Emma didn’t seem physically hurt or blatantly upset, but she wasn’t being outwardly friendly like before. She was hard to read.

When Ford finally approached her, his heart was in his throat. She was sat at her desk, glancing expectantly at him, though showed no emotion. “About yesterday.” He began, eyes focusing on everything on the room except her face. “I don’t know exactly what Bill did, but whatever happened, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

Emma let the silence drag on for a moment, which made nausea bubble up inside him until she seemed ready to speak. “I’m alright.” She said simply. Ford didn’t feel totally reassured, and she seemed to sense that. “I’ve worked here for quite some time; Gertrude only has three years on me. This isn’t the first scary thing I’ve witnessed, and it won’t be the last, either.”

“Still,” Ford continued, “I should’ve handled this entire situation better. It was stupid to think that staying awake forever was going to work.”

“You didn’t trust us to help you. I hope you can begin to, now.” Emma offered, smiling. “I appreciate it, but your apology isn’t necessary. I’m not the one who got hurt.”

Ford’s chest tightened. “R-right.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair anxiously. Pain radiated from his bruised head as he did so, but he hardly had it in him to care. He hadn’t even _seen_ the aftermath. Shaken and bruised could mean many things; just how much did Bill manage to do to Michael before being intercepted? “What does Michael even know about this situation? What do I even say to him?”

“I’m not sure.” Emma said. “Just take it slow with him, when he’s back. Let him come to you. He’ll work it out himself, and he’ll decide where you the two of you stand.”

“I don’t think there’s any conclusion that comes out looking well. Bill _attacked_ him.” Ford said.

“There isn’t any good answer; not with these matters. Spiral especially makes it all… confusing.” Emma said. “Apologize, and make it sincere. That’s all you can do.”

Ford nodded in acknowledgement, still sour about it. An explanation for Michael wouldn’t hurt, but what if that just came out sounding like some far-fetched excuse? At least he had the next few weeks to sort out how to make it up to him. At the very least, make sure that Bill didn’t get control long enough to pull that stunt again.

“…What does Spiral mean?” Ford asked after a beat. Emma tilted her head in query, as if unsure how to answer. “Gertrude’s mentioned rituals, and ‘forces of dread’, but not much else. What does _Spiral_ have to do with me? Is it part of that?”

Emma sat back in her chair and exhaled heavily. “ _Phew,_ I wasn’t sure if you were in the know or not. You might want to sit down, that’s a bit of a loaded question to answer.”

He complied, dragging his chair over to her desk. He wished he had his journals on hand, this sounded like a discussion he’d want to take notes for.

“So, your Bill Cipher. He makes you scared. Why is that?” Emma asked.

He gave her a look, but she didn’t relent, as if pushing him to humor her. “He almost made me destroy the world?” He answered.

“Sure. But let’s get deeper than that. What was he doing to make that happen?” She nudged.

“He used me. Figuratively and literally.” Ford said. Emma nodded, gesturing him to continue. “He made me trust him, he lied and told me what I wanted so he could trick me into building a portal for him. He has full access to my mind, to give me nightmares and control me in my sleep.”

“Yes, better.” Emma said. “Now, condense those experiences. What root cause makes you afraid now?”

Ford suppressed the urge to scoff, feeling like he was talking to a therapist rather than discussing supernatural monsters. He didn’t want to risk not getting a real explanation, though. How exactly would he boil down his experience further? Bill was a part of his life for several years now. In hindsight there was so much. What made Bill so scary to him? He gave an involuntary shudder, fidgeting in his seat as he spoke up. “…Paranoia.” Ford answered. “Sometimes the nightmares get confused with reality. I can’t trust myself to sleep without him doing something. I know he can possess anyone if he manages to made a deal with them, so I can’t trust anyone else, either.”

Emma let him sit in those thoughts for a moment. He had a hard time putting it to words, but as he laid it out, it made sense in the unpleasant sort of way. “Distrust, lies, paranoia, an unreliable psyche,” Emma said, “these are how we describe The Spiral, broadly speaking. It’s a fear that you are being lied to, that you can’t trust the world around you, or even your own mind.”

Ford chewed on that for a moment. “So it’s fear.” He said, and Emma nodded again.

“Think about all the fear in the world, from mundane everyday life and supernatural happenings. The distrust and paranoia all coming together as one giant mass of terror, that in turn reflects back to us and manifests into reality-altering phenomena and monsters.”

Ford was stunned, looking at her and unable to find words. She watched him carefully, as if unsure if he was shocked or if she had lost him completely on it. “It’s a bit larger-than-life.” She commented.

“Yes.” He said once he found his voice again. He adjusted his glasses that slipped crooked on his nose. “Where are they? These… masses of terror?”

“Somewhere else. They exist only where they can passively influence us, but it affects us all greatly.” Emma said. “If they existed here, it would be catastrophic.”

Ford looked down at his hands. This was what Gertrude meant about rituals, wasn’t it? Bill was using him to open a rift, for what purpose? Summoning some nightmare entity? He went pale, thinking of the consequences he narrowly avoided.

“How many are there, exactly?”

\--

Emma declared the rest of the afternoon to be a training day, to explain to Ford what she referred to as _Smirke’s Fourteen._ It was a lot to take in, but the gaps in his research felt like they could be filled by this crucial existential theory. Not that his research was getting him very far now, anyway, but he was in the right place if he wanted to get to the bottom of it. Since Gertrude was taking care of his grave mistake, the least he could do was learn and prevent falling into another trap.

Before Gertrude left, she informed him of the cot folded up in the storage room, along with blankets. He was awake all night following yesterday’s incident, both to avoid Bill as well as post-concussion risks. With some self-consciousness, he discussed with Emma how to plan for him to sleep without risk. She agreed to strapping him down to the cot and remaining in the archives in case Bill attempted another possession. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the idea of some secure rest was enough of a relief to let him drift away quickly.

Emma remained on the other side of the door, reading through a stack of case files. She waited half an hour before peeking into the room and listening for Ford’s even breathing. When she was certain he was sleeping, she sat in the chair next to him and waited patiently. She was lucky; it took only another fifteen minutes before the man’s eyes fluttered open. He wriggled the arms pinned to his sides, as if testing the bonds. He didn’t look surprised; he simply turned his head over to Emma and grinned widely.

“Emma Harvey.” He stated. In the quiet of the empty, dark room, the volume of his voice nearly startled her. “Gotta say, I’m getting some mixed signals here. Whose side are you on?”

“Not sure how to answer that. My own, I suppose?” She answered, shrugging nonchalantly. Bill sensed no fear from her. She had a calm demeanor, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation. This only sparked interest for Bill. “I was curious why Stanford wouldn’t sleep, and then you were a bit preoccupied to have a chat with me yesterday.”

“Well, I’m a little tied up at the moment, but I’ll make time!” He chuckled. Emma didn’t laugh.

“I listened to Stanford’s statement about you. Gertrude thinks you’re the Spiral.” She said. Bill crooked an eyebrow, smiling. Emma watched him expectantly. “Well?”

“Not sure how to answer that.” He retorted, mirroring her. “I’m a nonphysical two-dimensional triangular being of the mind—you might see why I don’t fit nicely in boxes. Of course a place like this would LOVE making names and categories for everything. Does that really save you when the monster knocks down the door?”

“Gertrude and I didn’t have a problem with you.” Emma responded. “Bear with me. It’s much easier to keep a coherent dialogue when you have proper terminology.”

Bill shrugged with what room his shoulders had to work with. “Point taken. If you’re so sure I’m The Spiral, then call me that. I don’t think I limit myself to one scope of terror, but you can fit me where you like.” He spoke. He looked around the room, craning Ford’s neck in uncomfortable angles to get his bearings, seemingly unbothered. After a beat, he focused on Emma again. “Ask the rest of your questions if you want, I’m not bored yet.”

Emma didn’t waste a second, speaking up as if prepared for the invitation. “You said you have no physical body. Do you only live through the eyes of your subject?”

He barked in laughter. “Pfft, no. I’d go too stir-crazy in here. I travel unnoticed through the world most of the time.” He said, “Ever since our deal, he’s just an easy-access puppet. At least, he was until he got smart.” Bill attempted to move his arms again, in indication. “I kind of like being tangible, so I might need to make some new friends if I want to continue with it.”

“Will you, now?” Emma said.

“If it’s curiosity that drives you, I can make it worth your while if you do me some favors.” Bill offered, smiling at her. Peering into her mind was difficult, somehow. It took longer to get a good glimpse than it usually did, but her memories of the late Fiona Law were quite interesting to peek at. “Gertrude’s an alright boss, but it must be hard to sate your curiosity when you have to work around her. You could have a lot of fun as the head archivist.”

Emma finally cracked a smile, and giggled lightly. “Oh, I’m quite alright. That position has a rather hefty amount of baggage I’m unwilling to carry.” She reached a hand back to touch her hair, Bill noticed her hand brush away what looked to be a white fleck of cobweb, letting it float gently to the floor. “You should try again when you have an actual enticing offer, you’re not working with desperate oblivious scientists anymore. I’m almost offended at the lack of effort.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Bill rolled his eyes, though his smile persisted. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

“Mm.” She hummed, nodding. “I’ll keep an eye on Stanford for you. I hope you don’t mind if I do so?”

“Feel free; just don’t break him. In return, I won’t tell your coworkers about our little chat. Sound good?”

“Sure.” Emma answered, smiling curtly. She stood up from her chair, glancing at the bindings again before opening the door. “You look securely tucked in. I’ll leave you to it.”

\--

Bill left Ford to a peaceful rest in his secured cot. After speaking with Emma, he had it in him to take out his frustrations on Ford, but as much as he hated it, he agreed that she was right about some things. All the researchers here were a bit too acutely aware about the supernatural, and therefore too quick to decide that something isn’t as it seems.

Gertrude was too sharp. Bill considered bargaining with her when he found her dozing off on her flight, but that wasn’t likely to do anything other than make him appear desperate. What good would that do, now? She was dead-set on destroying his work, and there wasn’t anything he could offer to change that. Not to mention those abilities of hers. If he was careless, he could lose the upper hand in an interrogation with her.

It would have all been _fine,_ if not for this institute. Even if Gertrude knew and planned to take it down, Bill could have had time to open the rift if not for his idiot puppet taking that job offer. Now, everything he worked for was lost. 

Who was that man again? James Wright. This was _his_ fault. The smug know-it-all thought he was so clever, binding Ford to his sorry excuse for a stronghold. Bill underestimated him, though; he had more going on than he realized. If Gertrude had abilities, then he likely did as well. He knew about Bill before Ford ever said a word—come to think of it, did Ford tell that man anything about him?

He was worth having another chat with, Bill decided.

He hovered about in James’ office, casually observing him sorting through a stack of papers and occasionally signing one here and there. It was dark outside, but he seemed to be determined to finish the work in front of him before leaving. The office was quiet and immaculate, but several times, Bill noticed him stop and crane his head, as if something had caught his attention. Bill moved closer, curious how he would react. His head twitched slightly toward Bill’s general direction, enough to indicate he noticed something, but the frown suggested that he couldn’t exactly discern who was sharing the space with him.

Watching him for the next hour was more boring than Bill would have wanted, but soon enough he returned home, and Bill entered his mind the moment he drifted into sleep. It turned out the pencil-pusher he had been watching had a lot more going on.

Dreamscapes varied dramatically from person to person. The mind was great at manifesting a space to represent a particular individual and how they personally navigate their world, with imagery and memories and streams of consciousness changing the dream like the ebb and flow of the tide.

The setting for the dream of James Wright was full of dark stone tunnels. It was old, and echoing. Prison bars locked up several small rooms, piled high with books and mementos. Bill spotted a pile of human bones, neatly stacked up in a pile along with a faded letter. Occasionally, the ceiling crumbled away to reveal a ray of light. When Bill peered through, something returned the gaze with bulbous, unblinking eyes. In another cell, tucked away in the far corner was a huddled shape, curled in on itself and facing the wall. It almost blended in with the dark grime of the walls around it.

“Yeesh. A lot to unpack in this place.” Bill said to himself.

“Can I help you?” A voice asked, clear and crisp.

Bill flew swiftly through the stone corridor, following the voice. Eventually it gave way to a central room with a tower. He rose to its peak in an instant, taking in the sight of a platform bathed in the light of those skyward eyes. Wright stood there, gaze cold and bright, looking unsurprised by his late-night visitor. The platform he stood on was set up like his office, excluding those pesky walls that would have obscured the coronet of cells lining the walls around the tower. From within a cell, Bill saw that portrait from Wright’s office, one of a different man with the same grey eyes.

“I was just hoping for a chat. Interesting place you got here.” Bill said, casually. “Jonah Magnus, huh?”

“I said you could call me James.” He answered. “Why are you here?”

“I really underestimated you, you know? Stupid move on my part, not bothering to really look into the place Ford stumbled into.” Bill commented, orbiting the circumference of the platform. “His lack of awareness must have rubbed off on me. Turns out I had just as much tunnel vision as he did about that hick town!”

Jonah hadn’t bothered to follow his gaze, but Bill felt the weight of his stern look regardless. “Well, you certainly paid the price for that. Your little would-be catastrophe is averted. Gertrude just finished burning that hovel to the ground, device and all.”

“I have an eye, too, brainiac.” Bill answered quickly, his form flashing red for a brief moment. He turned away and regained his composure before turning back to him. “I messed up; I can see that. I figured it was all going according to plan, so I played my cards too early, and that cost me. Now, I have nothing.”

Jonah looked unimpressed, as if he was waiting for him to get to the point.

“Sometimes you need a good failure to see where you went wrong. Coming here, it turned out I was a big fish in a small pond. I need to get with the times, and make some new friends.” Bill continued. “I gotta say, you and I already have loads in common! Impressive work with that puppet of yours.”

He smoothed out the front of his suit, chuckling lightly. “Normal human lifespans aren’t quite enough for me to work with, anymore. After observing your vessel’s struggle, I can appreciate the non-conditional terms of my own arrangement.”

A rush of memories played out, demonstrating the messy business of clearing out eye sockets to make room for an entire new consciousness. One memory showed a methodical practice of the act; other ones were more of a desperate scrap, beating and subduing someone younger and pinning them down, Jonah’s thumbs bloodied with gore as he got the job done. Apparently his most recent host put up a good fight.

“So. How does Gertrude Robinson feel about all this?” Bill asked. As he did, several surrounding prison cells projected various memories of her. Many featured tense standoffs between her and Wright, as well as glimpses of her expeditions that weren’t blotted out by her efforts to hide herself from a Watcher.

“I’m a lesser evil, in Gertrude’s mind. She’s confident that I won’t take her by surprise, and I provide the funds needed for her missions.” Jonah said, pacing about casually. “With the consequences of killing me, she’s saving me for the end, but I’m sure even she knows that her work is never done.”

“Heh. Smart, using her to cut down the competition.” Bill replied. He flicked through memories like tv channels. It was exciting to peek through the mind of a human that was older than most. So much more to explore. Soon, the flashbacks showed a room similar to the tower they stood in; instead with cells full of humans, all despairing under the terror of Jonah’s gaze, and then instant death as reality snapped like a rubber band. It looked to be Jonah’s attempt to transform the world into the unending nightmare of what he called the _Ceaseless Watcher,_ it evidently didn’t succeed past giving him some new power. He looked back to Jonah again. “I don’t think she’ll overlook you when you make another attempt at this. Soon enough she’ll be a thorn in your side. Why not let me deal with her? I’d be happy to do that job.”

Jonah laughed, like it was the best joke he heard all day. “You’re welcome to get in line.” He spoke. “You’re not the first monster to darken her doorstep, and your initial attempt was frankly, quite disappointing. Now that Stanford’s device is destroyed, you don’t pose a very convincing threat.”

Anger bubbled up in Bill again, but he forced it down. Not threatening, huh? He floated closer to Jonah, whose expression remained that infuriating pleasant calm. “You managed to see through my last trick, but I’m sure I can still surprise you!” Bill said. “Nice getting’ to know you, Jonah. We’ll talk again soon.”

Bill abruptly departed from the dreams of Jonah Magnus, floating aimlessly while he considered his next move. Jonah could be an ally, but better yet, he could be the keystone to make the arch crumble, and _that_ would feel good after the humiliation of losing Ford to him. It would mean a total clean slate, but it would be a promising start.

Jonah and Bill had a few things in common, which was all Bill needed to know who to talk to next.

\--

Entering the mindscape of a person during waking hours was possible, yet usually boring without another consciousness to interact with. Lucky for Bill, he knew he wasn’t going to be alone. It didn’t take long to find that cell again, he only had to look for the smallest, dustiest block that looked the most forgotten. Bill initially assumed that the figure was some grim reflection of Jonah’s psyche, but the man was too pompous to have that view of himself. This was another person, and Bill was free to address them without the watchful gaze of Jonah lurking about.

“James Wright.” Bill called out, phasing through the bars of the cell. The figure did not stir. He was in the same position as before, apparently doing his best attempt at impersonating the rocks of his cell. Bill snapped his fingers, and the stones in the wall began to shudder around him, and all at once James reacted in shock, crying out and scrambling to find steady ground.

 _’What’s…?’_ A raspy, ghost-like voice murmured. Bill circled him, shining a bright light to illuminate him. It was James, alright. Same body, albeit looking more withered and lost in comparison to Jonah who had assumed full control. He had one hand over his face, but between his fingers, Bill spotted the gaping holes where his eyes should be.

“I’m here to talk to you, James.” Bill said, leaning over him.

James’ figure remained still, but his mind began to churn out a stuttering, broken flow of thoughts for Bill to listen to. Apparently, James had forgotten he was a person, right up until now. Eventually his mind stitched itself together to form his thoughts into something more direct. _’You’re not Jonah.’_ He said slowly, voice echoing off the walls. His lips weren’t moving, but there was no need for that to be able to speak in the mindscape.

“Great observation there, sport.” Bill said. He floated above the husk, circling in a manner akin to a vulture. “Name’s Bill Cipher.”

 _’…How? How? How? How? How—‘_ He projected.

“Your smug boss isn’t the only one with mind powers.” Bill replied. “How long has he had you shoved into the darkest corner of your own brain?”

James’ stream of consciousness became messy again as he tried to puzzle it out himself. Bill followed along with flashes of images, eventually catching sight of a memory of a calendar. “Yikes. 1973, huh? I can barely stand the guy for two minutes, let alone a decade.” Bill commented.

 _’He took m-my eyes—my body—my name—my life—'_ He stammered. His body shuddered uncontrollably. _’But I am still here.’_

“He’s needs you alive to pilot you, that’s why.”

 _’I see through his eyes.’_ He lamented. _’I hate it, I— want it to end.’_

“Someone sounds desperate for a way out.” Bill said. “What if I said I could help you?”

James paused; his thoughts focused again and began to echo the word ‘help.’ It was quieter than a whisper, as if he wanted his sliver of hope to remain secret. Bill had to refrain from chuckling—this was too easy. He leaned closer to him. “You’re infected by a very self-satisfied parasite, but this is still your body. With your permission, I’d be happy to clear him out for you, if you’ll do something for me after.” He explained.

 _’What…? What could you want from me...?’_ He asked, confused. His withered form shrunk, as if to enunciate how he felt he had nothing to give. Oh, how wrong he was.

“Just a favor or two, once you’re back to the waking world. I’d prefer not to bore you with details now.” Bill said. Doubt creeped in on James, but his desperation was still starkly obvious. “I won’t wait long; it’s now or never, James. Agree, and you’ll have freedom. Otherwise, it’ll be another twelve-odd years like this before he lets you die.”

Bill could taste the panic that spiked up. Humans were much better at making the wrong decision when it came to a time limit. Perfect for him. It only took a few seconds of thought before James shook his head up and down frantically. _’Please… Please help me. Please help me.’_ His thoughts rang out.

There it was. Like candy from a baby. Bill’s form turned dark, and with a flash of light, he was wreathed in blue flame. Unable to see the spectacle, James made no new reaction, but that didn’t matter. Bill extended his arm. **“Reach forward and shake my hand.”**

\--

Jonah was preparing to leave his office when it hit him. What began with a sudden headache, turned into lancing pain as every nerve of James' body seemed to flare at once. He stumbled off to the side, reaching for his desk for support to try and pull himself together. When the crushing pressure on his chest began, panic raced through him until he raised a trembling hand to his pulse. His heart wasn't giving out.

What was causing thi-- Oh.

Jonah peered within the brain of his own host, only to be hit with the cacophonous mix of pained screaming and frenzied laughing. So, that abstract deceiver was keen on proving itself to be more than a nuisance. He should have known that their last conversation wasn’t just for pleasantries. It concerned him that Bill was capable of negotiating control of him through James, but now was hardly the time to be considering the variances of metaphysical rules of ownership.

Jonah clenched his teeth, and Bill forced a smile. Jonah fought to pull in ragged breaths, and considered ramming his head into the wall to end the connection, but by the time that thought crossed his mind, Bill already had his body standing up straight. Jonah wasn’t even in control of his eyelids anymore, which were blinking out of his control. Bill waved a hand in front of his face, then laughed. The voice coming out was disjointed.

“No sight for me, huh? I figured as much. That’s the only part _you_ actually own.” Bill said. “Heh. I can feel you looking around. Still think I’m not a convincing threat?”

His arms raised up with the likeness of a ragdoll, and Bill blindly marched forward with little regard for caution. The corner of his desk jabbed roughly at his side and sent him nearly stumbling before he regained balance. Jonah could still feel the pain of impact despite his lack of control. It felt like his entire nervous system was on fire, stimulated beyond capacity with the consciousness of a few too many beings residing within. Bill simply barked a laugh, as if being hurt was comedy to him.

“James experiences everything like this. How is it to have the tables turned? You seem to be a fan of total control.” Bill remarked, groping in front of him for something to grab. “He’ll be happy to have you vacated, then I’ll show him some real fun when I take him out of this stuffy library! No more watching you push a pencil around all day.”

Bill found the edge of the desk, and began to feel across its surface. Jonah’s eyes darted about furiously. That wretched creature was being serious, was his vendetta against him serious enough that he was willing to destroy everything, including his other vessel? Stanford Pines must have had some value to him beyond that portal project. Jonah had miscalculated, evidently. A miscalculation that could lead to the end of him in his own office.

Pines was in the archives. He could see him reading through a collection of old letters from Robert Smirke, enthusiastically taking in all knowledge of the architecture of fear he was ignorant to for so long. Jonah reached to his mind desperately. A clear calling couldn’t be sent, but the sudden insertion of knowledge that Bill threatened his employer got his attention well enough. A crash of guilt and anxiety overtook Ford, and Jonah hoped it would be enough to make him act on it as he pulled his gaze back to his own body again.

Bill had knocked over a lamp and swept several piles of stationary to the floor before coming across a container of utensils, and he began to grab one at a time, feeling for the shape of each one, the sharpness of the end. It seemed like Bill noticed when Jonah fixed his gaze on the point of each writing utensil in his hand, and the creature gave a dark laugh.

“I was considering a genuine alliance for a moment, there.” Bill mused, “You had power that I could use on my side, and I could get behind the idea of that voyeuristic terror schtick you got goin’. But at the end of the day, I don’t think I could go against my nature and work with someone as equals. You also piss me off.”

After several pencils that Bill deemed unsatisfactory, he uncapped a fountain pen he picked up and felt along the fine tip of it, staining his fingers a dark blue. “Ohoho, how about this one? What do you think?” Bill asked, as if Jonah could reply to him. He rested his left hand on the desk, and with a swift movement, drove the pen’s point down on the center of his hand. Jonah’s vision flashed white from the agony. When Bill lifted the pen, he saw the yellow-white of a tendon within the gash before blood welled up to obscure it, tinging darker from the splash of ink mixed in. “Well, if it can go through a hand, it can go through an eye!” Bill said, chuckling.

The real panic set in now, and Jonah desperately tried to feel his way through the pain, frantically searching for any tendon or muscle he could manipulate to keep Bill at bay. There was nothing at all as Bill ripped the pair of glasses off of his face and discarded them on the floor, then repositioned the fountain pen in his hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He still had so much work left to complete. He could not end like this. He would _not_ let The End claim him now. His hand came up to pull down the skin below his right eye. “Don’t worry pal, I’ll go nice and slow for ya! It’ll only hurt a lot!” Bill said, drawing the bloody point closer to Jonah.

“Wright?!” A voice shouted. In the full panic of the moment, Jonah didn’t register that Stanford had made it to his office. Bill turned his head toward the door, and Jonah was able to catch sight of the man with a look of horrified shock on his face.

“Try again!” Bill shouted, not losing his grin. Jonah felt Bill tighten his grip and begin to move toward his eye again, and Ford lunged forward in action, not delaying.

Stanford tackled him to the ground with bruising force, grabbing the arm holding the pen. “What the hell are you doing, Cipher?! It’s over! Your plan failed!” He shouted.

Jonah finally felt his expression change to a scowl. “Over? I see it more as a new beginning. You mess up my plan, I make a new one. You’re gonna wish you stayed on my good side.” Bill spat, fighting against him. His muscles screamed in effort as Bill somehow exerted more power from them than was comfortable. To Jonah’s dismay, the pen was only centimetres from his face. Stanford wrenched his arm at the last moment so that the only gouge was along his cheek. “This is _your_ fault, Sixer! You keep failing and everyone else gets hurt!” He barked.

The taunting only served to strengthen Stanford’s resolve, thankfully, and he tightened his grip. He maneuvered enough to trap his arms and get him into a chokehold. While the sensation of losing blood flow to the brain was dreadful beyond measure, Jonah felt relief wash over him as Bill’s strength steadily diminished.

Jonah blacked out for only a few seconds before returning to himself on the floor of his office. James’ body was no longer enveloped in pain, but his overexerted muscles ached and his bleeding wounds stung. At the edge of his mind, the consciousness of his host shook with trepidation, fully overwhelmed by the chaos of what he so stupidly invited in. He had half a mind to punish the man, but it looked like he learned his lesson.

Stanford looked down at him, mortified. Upon seeing the bloody mess of his boss’ hand, he reached for the box of tissues on the desk to staunch the flow of red. Jonah grimaced from the pain, recoiling from his touch. He was still too dizzy to move, to his dismay. Stanford’s terror at the situation he wrought was a welcome thing to sense, but the pity in his eyes as he looked at Jonah filled him with a rage he could barely contain. “Don’t touch me. I’m quite alright.” He hissed.

Stanford heeded the request. “That was Bill—wasn’t it? I’m such an idiot, I thought he would have left after the portal failed…” He stammered. “Did you make a deal with him?”

 _’No, you idiot.’_ He thought, furious. “Thank you for your assistance, we’ll discuss this matter tomorrow. Now, leave me be.” He said. At the corner of his eye, he could see Ford open his mouth to argue. In return, he stared at him with the full oppressive force of the Watcher. “ _Get. Out._ ”

Shocked, Stanford got to his feet and backed out toward the door. He was sick to his stomach, horrified at yet another instance of terror he brought to this institute due to his grave mistakes. His anxiety bounced between being worried about being fired or arrested, which would have been more entertaining to Jonah under different circumstances.

For now, Jonah pulled himself to his feet, trying to regain his composure. He stretched his awareness to cover the room, searching for any sign of Cipher’s presence. His focus was too skewed to tell, but he would wager he was still in the room.

“You’ve made your point.” He said to the empty air, then reached into his desk drawer for his med kit to dress his wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: After a day's consideration, I think I accidentally just reinvented [ Homestuck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raMHZCdgnnU) with that last scene... I don't know if I should be proud or ashamed.


End file.
